


The Nuclear Blight

by Replica_Jester



Category: Alternative Universe - Fandom, Dragon Age AU - Fandom, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins AU, Dragon Age: Origins/Fallout: New Vegas, Fallout NV AU, Fallout: New Vegas, crossover - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Apostates, Archdemons (Dragon Age), Boomers, Brotherhood of Steel - Freeform, Bunkers, Caesar's Legion (Fallout New Vegas), Dalish, Darkspawn, Depression, Dragon Age Origins/Fallout New Vegas Crossover, Dwarves, Eamon Guerrin - Freeform, Elves, Enclave (Fallout), F/M, Feeling Trapped, Ferelden, Followers of the Apocalypse, Forced Evolutionary Virus, Gen, Ghouls, Great Khans - Freeform, Grey Wardens, Helpless, Humans, Mages, New Denerim, Ostagar, Other, Paladins, Powder Gangers - Freeform, Qunari, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Romance, Super Mutants, Templars, The Blight, The Fallout, The Taint, Wasteland, atomic wasteland, glowing ghouls, hopless - Freeform, nuclear wasteland, radiation, scribes, the Freeside, the Master - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7435137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Replica_Jester/pseuds/Replica_Jester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thedas was consumed with greed by the 4th Blight. In a mix of desperation to possess dwarven technology and kill the Archdemon, humanity united and opened war upon Orzammar when the dwarves refused aid, stealing every bit of tech they could get their hands on. The Grey Wardens defeated the Archdemon, but at the cost of Thedas destroying itself - poisonous pollution from every possible source, tech and organic alike. The Taint bonded with the poison, strengthening into a radiation the land could not recover from. War, famine, bunkers, and the Grey Wardens watched it all fall in spite around them.<br/>Now, the 5th Blight has begun. With Maric "Mr. House" Theirin, the most brilliant Tech in Thedas, missing and his heir Cailan dead from the first battle against the Darkspawn, Loghain and his Legion mysteriously control Ferelden. Only two Grey Wardens remain, now faced with an impossible task: an enhanced Taint, factions long at war with each other and the mutated wasteland surrounding them? It's a shame the Maker left so long ago. The world has become a cruel wasteland determined to mock and destroy. Alistair and Cousland struggle to find reason to save a world that keeps trying to kill them. If they fail, all is lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Speaking of Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Alistair inspired by Fidget by Starrypawz
> 
> This story is supposed to smoothly merge both the Fallout NV world plus Ferelden. I firmly believe any story, fanfic or original, should be written so you don't need prior context to understand the characters or the storyline. I'm striving for that here. Little things (animals, consumables, etc) not explained right away means they will be explained according to plot relevance later on. I hope you can be familiar with either or none of the games and still understand this fic, but moreso I hope you are here for a good tale. 
> 
>  

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why didn't other Grey Wardens help?

_We didn’t always used to be Grey Wardens, you know._

_Long ago, the land was green and young, or so I was told. Only Thedas has been explored and occupied though. While surrounding lands were harsh wastes, Thedas was strong and flourished in more ways than we can ever imagine today. The different races weren’t exactly amiable toward each other, but there was relative peace._

_The Dalish elves roamed the land with majestic white beasts and their equally fascinating land-ships, their existence a serene cooperation with nature and spirits as they sought to reclaim their lost history, however tattooing their faces to distinguish culture and other elves who chose not to embrace their way of life. City elves weren’t as happy, as their neighborhoods drowned in poverty, but they were free to remain in a stationary home and still honor their heritage without adhering to the strict no-contact-with-humans rule, also free to expand their trades wherever they chose and not forced to bear tattoos. Dwarves were mighty little men who lived under the mountain, and though they slowly lost most of their thaigs and Deep Roads to a devastation called the Blight, they remained in a few remaining unbreakable cities, which according to legends were grand halls of metal and statues that sparkled and glimmered in the lava that lit and warmed their sunless lands, paving the way for other races with vast technology and blacksmithing. Qunari were reclusive giants, venturing from their tropical home only to seek new land or to convert - a zealous, strict religion, legends say, or to trade or make allies. Human came in many forms, most mundane and domestic with the exception of those able to harness the energies of the land into magic - both healing and deadly, the Templars who were sworn to keep the mages in check and the Chantry who kept the Templars on top of mage activities - in the name of the Maker who created us all. Though they were both at odds, they coexisted civilly with the rest of the world._

_Wars were fought like any history might divulge, but overall there was peace. Growing plants, fresh food, clean water, images so lovely it inspired poetry and fashion. Love, marriage, family, neighbor helping neighbor, and so on._

_And then the Blights. Nasty things, a poison that painfully killed all it touched, leaving the land charred and scarred as if a hundred-year fire had just been extinguished. Corrupted by a disease called the Taint, what history calls_ dragons _-_ actual dragons, yes I know, preposterous isn't it? Wings and scales and fire-breathing to boot _\- anyway, these_ dragons _supposedly were_ old gods _, imprisoned and buried and re-awakened into the massive creatures when this disease Tainted them.  They were the leaders of Blights, the most brutal war generals legends ever tell of.  Their soldiers were a mix of all the races deformed by severe Taint, which gave them a sort of hive-mind, allowing them to sense when other Tainted things entered their presence, which meant they also knew which was not Tainted._ Darkspawn _, though I don’t know how they earned their name since Blights were fought on the surface, where we have sunshine._

 _This is where we come in. Well, not you and me specifically, this was long before our time, but it’s where the Grey Wardens come in anyhow. We didn’t always used to be Grey Wardens, you see. Back then, we were called the Enclave, an organization formed by people who discovered by accident that surviving the Taint gave us unnatural strength and the ability to tap into the Darkspawn’s_ hive mind _and sense their approach, and if a member had lived with the Taint long enough he or she could sort of_ read into _the dragon's’ plans. So evil, disfigured and driven by lust for power, the dragons were labeled Archdemons, and it was our job - the Enclave’s job to stop it. The best of the best from around Thedas was recruited, and though most who undertook the_ potion _died, those who survived were joined with the Darkspawn enough to overpower them. The best way to defeat your enemy is to become his friend, right? That’s what Duncan taught me anyhow. Well, obviously we didn’t sit down over beers and watch the atomic sunsets together, but it sort of made us...like an extended family, in a way. The longer we were around them with our Taint, the longer they grew used to us, and eventually we took them by surprise. The start of the Enclave was the end of the First Blight. There have been four Blights total, though. It never ends._

_By the Fourth Blight, Thedas was at war with each other. We barely survived that Blight. The Darkspawn live underground, you see, they were the ones who drove the dwarves out of their old thaigs, and the dwarves never fully recovered the strange technology that built their major city Orzammar, which lies beneath Ferelden - where we are. I know, it’s hard to tell which country we’re in anymore. Everything looks the same, just as dead. Anyway, while the Blight always rescinded from the surface, for the dwarves it was a daily battle. And with their impressive technology like running water, ventilation, circulating air, indoor pluming...well, who wouldn’t want that? While the dwarves were busy with the darkspawn, strengthening upon the Archdemon coming into full power, humans attacked. Powerful mages from Tevinter teamed up with non-mages from Orlais, Antiva, and Ferelden and together we robbed the dwarves of their way of life. Instead of trying to invent it ourselves, despite they would not share their blueprints, we just took it. The grass is always greener on the other side, right? Don’t get me wrong I’m not advocating we did the right thing, but I understand it. We stole their technology, built weapons that ended the Fourth Blight as soon as it spilled out onto the surface, and we destroyed the world._

_Not literally, of course, we fought the Blight, not the land. But by stealing the dwarves’ weapons and their ability to survive without fresh air and water, we left them defenseless when the darkspawn pressed in again. Orzammar was overrun, and what was left of the dwarves fled to the surface to find their own tech used and abused around them. Weapons were a priority, of course, as were rebuilding the ruling fortresses. Indoor plumbing that summoned fresh water at will, harnessed lightning in the form of runes to produce lights activated at the flick of a switch, metal fortifications became first the standard for any King, Emperor or other persons of significance. In a matter of decades, though, it had become the standard way of life for everyone._

_The land was cleared - trees, herbs, wildlife, crops - all to make room for these new metal homes, and when the metal ran out they compensated with metal skeletons and filled in the walls with a ground-rock compound. Bows were replaced by guns and swords were modified to be things of true terror, all to protect the factories built to produce these new metal ways of life. Factories spit black smoke that poisoned the air as bad as any Blight, and eventually everything that could not be used was thrown to man-made craters to be forgotten, corroded metal, poisons, carcasses alike. Batteries were invented; the story Duncan told me was originally likened to ancient runes only larger, metal, able to connect with other objects and transfer energy back and forth. Ink and quills were replaced by telephones, a communication device that changed a person’s voice into information able to travel through wires strung up in the sky by ancient trees stripped of branch and life. Other forms of electrical data storage were invented: computers - apparently they used to think this was blood magic, robots - seen at first as demonic abominations though the Templars could not banish them. Strange at the time to a civilization who lived off butter churns and washboards and roosters. With it all came waste, though, only now with the land cleared there was nothing left to naturally dispose of the carcasses, and overloaded electrical devices bled a sort of acid into the ground that poisoned soil and water alike._

_In my opinion, if it had just been technology poison we may have recovered. But the surface advanced within the first year after the Fourth Blight, and the Taint was still strong where the darkspawn had emerged. This electrical waste enhanced the Taint, a bond stranger than anything we’d ever seen. Remaining wildlife exposed to it fused together into strong mutant beasts, and out of carcasses sprouted glowing poisonous mushrooms. Naturally, the best idea for this was to experiment on living creatures. The glowing enhanced Taint was called radiation, and it appeared to have powers mages could not access. Laboratories everywhere filled up. Nugs were fused with rats; not only could you have a cute pet, but he’d guard your house for you. Humans became faster, harder hitting - if they didn’t fuse together into ravaging carnivorous monsters. Poisons became deadlier and were suddenly popular again. Bombs were made; vicious, unprejudiced things that tore people apart at the core of every atom. They bottled it up, called it Forced Evolutionary Taint. It made a lot of people very rich very quick._

_Death rushed in with the force of a hurricane, though. I suppose it’s what we get for tampering with nature, trying to control things meant to keep humans from overpopulating. Everyone exposed to this radiation grew ill and died within weeks; days if they were lucky. Through water it spread like wildfire, affecting everyone and everything water touched. Even the most subtle contact meant death. Ferelden was one of the first nations to lose life, but every country quickly followed in characteristics of the Anderfels: barren, wasteland; the Anders built high walls around their country, protective of their resources and pure ground, and today it remains one of the cleanest, safest - believe it or not - places in Thedas. The other countries did what they thought best - kill neighboring lands before they could be killed. Robots were created to be mobile foot soldiers, some built specifically as bombs, or to launch bombs, and they moved with speed and force humans could not. It sounds like those who died directly from the bomb blasts were the lucky ones, others who didn’t escape in time wasted away. Babies were born resembling nug-like fish instead of humans, there was constant sickness until flesh rotted away and people became walking ghouls. Trying to escape to non-irradiated areas only spread their radiation Taint, and before long very little land was safe or clean._

_Impenetrable underground fortresses called bunkers or vaults were quickly constructed within remaining clean land, completely cutting off access to the Deep Roads for good, and everyone important enough - that is, everyone with enough money or powerful Magisters - locked themselves away for survival. A few underground Tevinter ruins were fortified with metal, keeping those who were not privileged enough to enter a bunker safe enough from the harsh surface elements. Otherwise, you were lucky to last the night on clean ground. Brutal survival instincts took over, and if you didn’t kill someone reaching for water, you’d die of thirst yourself. It’s still like that today actually, thankfully not as bad anymore._

_As if the Enclave wasn’t scarce enough, the irradiated Taint decreased our numbers. Even fewer survived, and we still have no idea how. The remaining members knew how it affected those of them who died - rapid grotesque transformations, fusing with weapons and armor, nearly indestructible - dead only because unaffected teams ganged up on one at a time. We had to kill our own members - our family - to survive. The elders of the Enclave realized it would affect the Darkspawn the same way, and the next Archdemon to awaken would likely be impossible to kill. They_ had _to do something. They needed a cure or a work-a-round to allow them to co-exist with this new form of Taint. With their stores of Archdemon blood now irradiated, they had little option and not a lot of time. Lyrium, a crystal crushed as the blood-binding reagent, had been lost to the Deep Roads, so they tried combinations of battle stimulants - clever brews that poison regular people but boost our kind, things that are now called Psycho, Slasher and Med-X. Mix these together with irradiated Archdemon blood and an Atomic Cocktail, and you’ve got a Joining Potion. If the original Joining potion wasn’t deadly enough, this is. Fixer and a Healing Poultice_ must _be administered as soon as you wake up, but when you do, you’ll have powers you never dreamed possible in this lifetime. Immunity to radiation - almost. Well,_ you _already know. It doesn’t affect us like it does the rest of the world. Sure, by the next Blight we’ll be senile glowing ghouls, and we can still get sick from it, but it absorbs slower, and if we’re exposed to large amounts regularly we even heal from it. I’ve never heard of dreams this bizarre, but there you go: the price of surviving an overdose of hard chems. Strength, endurance, don’t need as much sleep..._

_Anyhow, the Enclave managed to save the Order, but we never made it past the second century. We created those chems, do you see? All of them were meant as Enclave battle elixirs. One of us was greedy or desperate or something in the past and traded some for food, I guess. It wasn’t long before it became a black market item. The old Chantry realized they had no way of keeping their Templars addicted without lyrium and the black market did not supply them with the amount of our chems needed. When the Enclave refused to supply them with product or recipe, the Chantry attacked - Templar and mage fought together against the Enclave, ending in a shameful stalemate in front of New Denerim. The Chantry won a debate in front of the Divine, claiming they were trying to end the goading of harmful substances upon the Maker’s most loyal. The Enclave was banished from Ferelden, but as they were escorted out, a mysterious note was slipped to the Divine: a letter from a Grand Cleric authorizing Chantry funds for a list of the chems the Enclave was accused of selling. The Enclave had already fled, though, and while it was too late to revoke their banishment, the Divine dismembered the Chantry from her image. The Chantry had worked in secret outside their allowances of operation and had shamed her while shaming themselves; they were no longer worthy of association to the Maker._

_The Chantry withdrew to their own private bunkers and changed their name to the Brotherhood of Steel, on account of their heavy-armed Templar guards and metal home. Magic had become extremely unstable from radiation, so due to the new operations mages were restricted to Scribe work; data, programming, history, education. Templars became Paladins, protectors of the Scribes and their Codex of knowledge and virtues they hoped to preserve. The Circle of Magi and Templars alike reformed willingly in hopes to summon the Maker back to them with forgiveness and blessing._

_The Enclave also took on a new name. Retreating to a safehouse vault just outside of Ferelden, the Grey Wardens were born. Under this new name, they freely traveled across borders, watching for signs of a new Blight and a permanent place to settle. Eventually, sheer luck struck when they stumbled upon a hidden bunker complete with a laboratory and garage - including airships the surface had not yet heard of. More technology than they ever hoped to access, systems so secure they had to break down the door when they couldn’t hack through. Vertibirds; they quickly learned to control and repair the airships, and though they kept the name on the blueprints, they painted a two-headed gryphon on each plane - a tribute to the actual gryphons the Enclave of old used to breed and train for war. Secretly recruiting again, they rebuilt their numbers and soon all over the world the Enclave disappeared and Grey Wardens rose up. A scarce band of mercenaries to the surviving world, a hushed gathering underground in every nation; furtively, they prepared for the next Blights. The Grey Wardens remain a hidden safety catch for Thedas until they’re needed again. Well, not right now obviously. My d- er...that Mr. House fellow, Maric Something-or-Other? He revoked the banishment. He knew Duncan back in the day, or so I’m told; spelunking in old flooded bunkers together. Because spelunking is fun to say._

_I...apologize. You asked why there weren’t more Grey Wardens, not for a history lesson. No, really, you don’t need to apologize. I appreciate you listening anyway. Most people cut me off before I can introduce myself. Ah, speaking of introductions - we never got around to ours, did we? Thrown right into battle as soon as Duncan had me deliver your armor. The joys of war, eh? Lovely how it brings us all together._

_Cousland, right. That’s the name. Your family owns the Tops, right? Well, I know Cailan owns_ everything _on The Strip, but it’s your family inheritance. The Chairmen of New Denerim; a line of respectable warriors. I heard about your Highever Vault. I’m sorry, that much have been horrible. And now this - us barely surviving the war and everyone else dying again…_

_That was smooth. Right. Sorry again. Ah...change the subject...first name? Or do you want me to...I dunno, call you Cousy, or C-Land or something? No, wait, never mind. C-Land sort of makes you sound like an amusement park. Like you dance at The Burning Rose. Egh, seriously, never mind me. It’ll probably be easier on both of us._

_Jamie? Jamie Cousland? Oh,_ Jeramie _Cousland. Huh...Not that...I’m oogling you or anything, but were your parents expecting a son? It is? That’s news to me. I read a book on baby names once, Jeremy is_ definitely _a boy’s name. And...I’m not helping again. Sorry. Again. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I’ve never talked to a girl before. Woman!_ Woman _, sorry, not girl. Aaaagh, just kill me now, please? But burn my body, will you? Don’t leave me to rot, I don’t want to end up some weird-looking mutant’s sixth arm._

 _My -_ MY _name? You want to know_ my _name? Really? Oh...okay. Er, Alistair. My...name is Alistair._

_...I suppose this is it, isn’t it? The two of us against the nuclear Blight._

 


	2. Two's Company, Three's a Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silenced, misunderstood and unwanted his whole life has left Alistair a bitter soul, turning to alcohol when things get rough. The new Warden Cousland, from the Chairmen tribe of New Denerim, and the eyebot Morrigan treat him no different. What Alistair wants and what he gets are polar opposites: Cousland proves impossible to work with or train as a Grey Warden, and nights are spent drowning in liquor after physical and verbal fights. Attempts to find peace are shunned. How can the last two Grey Wardens hope to defeat the Blight when they can't stop warring?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING** Angst, verbal abuse, self-loathing, anxiety, depression, alcoholism.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [ Radio New Vegas (Fallout New Vegas soundtrack)](https://youtu.be/uAczEvYIukA)
> 
> **NOTE** Names of Characters/Locations may be altered to fit the DAO storyline.

The recruit was quiet. Jamie, _he’d have to remember that._ Not that strangers spoke much, but she was particularly reserved. She sat hugging her knees, neck craned to stare at the night sky, watching wispy clouds crawl around between her and the moons and stars. Frankly, Alistair was glad for her silence. The other member of their little gang wouldn’t shut up.

 _Eddie._ Strange name for a female. Rags _slightly_ less desperate than the prostitutes of New Denerim and the fiends scampering high around the wasteland. An _automaton_ , according to that cryptic doctor who’d patched Alistair and Jamie up after losing the battle at Ostagar. Eddie _looked_ human enough, and jabbered like a real woman - like the  young girls from the bunker, anyway.

She was on Alistair’s last nerve right now. Everything he did was _incorrect_ by her standards. How his feet thudded when he walked, the way he activated his Pip-boy, raking his fingers to keep his hair out of his eyes, fingers snapping at his sides, the smirk when he was annoyed, unrolling the bed mats, and how he struck the flint stone to start the campfire, Eddie complained about it all. She opened her mouth once more as his hunting knife penetrated a can of pork and beans.

“Of all the people to survive a battle with, it _had to be you,_ didn’t it?” Alistair  turned the can, tilting the knife so it screeched as he sawed; vibrations shimmied down tin straight into his fingers. He took far too much pleasure in the cringe and twitching limbs the racket had on the shrew machine.  

“We did _not survive_ together! Twas mother’s ludicrous sympathies that brought you into my home to be sewn up!” Eddie had a ridiculous dialect Alistair could only assume was old world-inspired and self-taught.

“Oh, why don’t you go make yourself useful and kill a gecko!” he groaned. “I would _love_ a steak right now.” Glaring was useless against such a person. His fist stiffened around the hilt, cleaving through tin rougher than normal.

“My skills do not benefit domestic urges!” she snapped. _“Twould_ have been more practical for me to light the fire.”

“Then instead of _bitching_ you should _help._ Why are you here, anyway?” Alistair pulled the knife from the can with another screech, only to stab again. Tightened grip absorbed more friction from his aggressive blade. “What could a _cyborg_ possibly want with Grey Wardens?”

“ _I_ desire _nothing_ of you. Twas my _mother’s instruction_ , therefore tis now my directive. And a most practical decision. My skill is hardly matched even amongst war machines. Who better to ensure the last hope to cease the Blight achieve it’s objective?” _A personal assistant,_ that’s what Eddie was. Alistair’s very own Mr. Handy, the perfect robotic help, only in place of a cheerful disposition and housemaid skills, an overdose of _cheek_ and _unsatisfied criticism_ dominated her persona _._

“Oh, so you’re here to _help._ Moral support, _right_. _Thank_ _you_ , Eddie. If you hadn’t told me I would have _wasted_ the night away wondering what I did wrong.” Lid hanging on by a last notch, the can of pork and beans wedged its way between glowing coals under Alistair’s guidance. “Who in their right might would name their _daughter Eddie_ , anyhow? What’s with all these _higher nobles_ naming their daughters after men?”

“Tis _ED-E,_ you fool, not _Eddie! ED-E!_ Enhanced Duraframe Eyebot, _ED-E!”_ she enunciated. “Tis an archiving identification, not a name!”

“Identification isn’t a name? Tell that to the Securitrons on The Strip,” he retorted, trying to twist the vodka lid faster than it could spin.

Eyeballs too shiny to be real rolled at his words. “Tis like an energy weapon, no? Each has its own identification number for storage classification, yet they are _called_ otherwise; plasma pistol, laser pistol, plasma rifle - shall I continue? Surely your wasteland mind has not forgotten how you grew up.”

Alistair hissed through a sip of starchy liquor whose fumes burned his nose hairs. “Could you just...I don’t know, overload and fry your circuits or something? That would be great, thanks.”

“What I am _called_ is _Morrigan,_ if you happen to possess a byte of courtesy.”  

“Couldn’t you be like _her_ and bite your tongue? How does a robot even _have_ a tongue?”

“I do not have one,” Eddie or ED-E or Morrigan or whatever informed, “my voice is a data projection-”

“Shut up. I _meant_ shut up, not keep talking,” he interrupted, as fire popped sauce bubbles from the can of beans. Alistair capped his fermented potato juice and grabbed the scalding tin can, cursing even after he set it down. He gathered an armful of snacks from his sack joined the new Grey Warden. “It’s not The Gourmand, but it’s hot, at any rate.” The hot tin of pork and beans scraped against pebbles and dirt as he slid it in front of her.

Jamie Cousland’s eyes were wide, dilation from dim light adding to the impression of awe. Ever silent as Alistair laid out trail mix, potato crisps, and Fancy Lad snack cakes, though she revealed a small bottle of whiskey when he offered her vodka.

A laugh puffed from his throat as he met her eyes. “You’ve been over here _drinking?”_ he marveled. “Is that what they teach you on The Strip?”

 _The Strip_ \- the main course of New Denerim, where the most important nobles of Ferelden had replaced medieval stone manors with grand casino resorts, and a private bunker underneath opening to every basement. Home to flashing neon signs, drunken royal guard, and robotic security. The entrance exposed The Burning Rose - the popular brothel _The Pearl_ reinvented into a sleazier casino resort with a never-ending supply of prostitutes; and the Lucky 38 - back in the day, just known as the boring old Denerim palace...but who wants to own a stack of bricks when you can own a glowing tower seen from anywhere in Ferelden that controls every source of electricity? The Royal family had lived at the Lucky 38, Cailan Theirin taking over as _Mr. House_ \- the _Hearth of Ferelden_ \- when his father Maric mysteriously disappeared five years ago; Cailan died at the battle of Ostagar, rumored as the first time he ever left his fancy casino. The nobles independently ran their own casinos - the snappy-dresser chipper Couslands were the _Chairmen_ of _The Tops;_ the Mac Tir family - the _White Glove Society_ of the immaculate _Ultra-Luxe,_ top hats and Ferelden’s best eatery The Gourmand included, though most famous for being home of Cailan’s mystery wife Anora Mac Tir, daughter to his war general Loghain; shamed for losing The Tops to the Couslands, the Howes now called themselves the _Omertas_ and ran _The Burning Rose_. All suspicious in their own ways, and all brilliantly racking in sovereigns from services citizens and tourists couldn’t seem to refuse. _That_ was Jamie’s world.

“No. Talent, I’m afraid,” Jamie answered.

He laughed again. “A natural sneak. That will come in handy.” He opened the trail mix and scooped a handful.

“Only with alcohol.”

“Still be handy. I’ve always wanted to try that absinthe stuff, but it never seems to be for sale,” he joked through crunchy pinyon nuts and sugar bombs.

“Ah,” she said, sneaking a sip almost faster than Alistair could catch it, “skills of the Mighty Grey Wardens. This explains a lot.”

Another laugh made him inhale vodka rather than sip it. “Sad, isn’t it? And here I am a lumbering oaf. All the blame will go to you.” he cleared his throat as she frowned from the corner of her eye. “Er, sorry.  Did I mention I don’t have any friends? You should eat, you know. I know it’s not a lot, but we should be able to find gecko and pears tomorrow.”

“Gecko?” she echoed.

“Yes, gecko. Bigger than dogs, ridiculously cute faces; I _almost_ feel bad killing them. Chuck, ribs, and brisket are best. Have you never had it?” He tossed another bit of dried fruit and pinyon nuts in his mouth.  

“I grew up on The Strip in a casino. We had bighorner or brahmin.”

“That’s it? You know what _this_ is at least, don’t you?” Alistair held up an apple.

Jamie frowned. “Now you’re just mocking me.”

“I - no, that’s not - really? You never left? No traders? What did you eat?”

“Nope, never left. We have a lovely courtyard, no need to leave home. Traders? Only for cattle. We have our own sanitary garden, and _yes, I know what an apple is.”_

“Wow, you’re just as grumpy as _Eddie-_ ”

 _Morrigan_ spat correction from across the campfire.

“I’m guessing you don’t have many friends either, eh?” What luck to be stuck with _two_ females who thought themselves above him.   

Jamie eyed him as he unsheathed his hunting knife. “When you have money and influence, you don’t need friends.” She put the bottle of whiskey to her mouth, the glow of the fire reflecting like scorching radiation.

“Uh-huh. But you’re _here_ , with _me,_ as a _Grey Warden._ ” Alistair drizzled vodka over the blade for sanitation. _“_ So...what does that make you now?” maybe he was pushing his luck, but it had been a long frustrating day. What was one more shove to put a little humor in the night?

“ _Obviously_ just one of the wasteland thugs.”

“Obviously,” he echoed with a sip of his own drink. “Here we are, two wasteland thugs who have the nerve to call themselves _Wardens._ ” He pressed the blade into ripe peel until a crisp cut reverberated through to his palm. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”

“You talk a lot.”

“Yes, I know. It’s habit when I’m not fidgeting with tech or fighting, or on the move. I’m told I turn circles in my sleep even.” This was something he’d never get anyone to understand. _Always had to move_. Something about vibrations cascading through his body gave him peace, made him feel whole. Like an itch he couldn’t reach unless he moved. Walking quelled it, running or punching was better, music was perfect; every note sank to the center of his bones. Right now, his feet bounced, calf muscles flexed and relaxed to accommodate teetering ankles, siphoning the urge to move out of his hands so he could slice the apple.

“And you complained about _her_ speaking.”

“Thank you!” Morrigan exclaimed.

Alistair’s hand jerked at the reproach; the knife carved harder, deeper, meeting his thumb on the other side. “I don’t talk just to correct people on how they walk. I can’t help it if I always need to move, can I?” He shoved a crude shaving in his mouth and forced the blade back through peel. Sticky juice rolled down and dripped onto soil.

“There are pharmaceuticals for that,” Jamie implied she wanted him to stop talking.

“Six hours together, and she wants to tranquilize me. _Lovely_. I can already see our future.” A muffled crush squirted sweet nectar on his tongue. He steadied his hand to cut a proper wedge, feet instantly counterbalancing his sedated arm.

“Did you want to be a Grey Warden?” she asked.

“I did. Well, not specifically a _Grey Warden_ , but I wanted out of the Brotherhood enough. I wanted to explore, you know? Freedom to move and roam and discover without being told what I could and couldn’t pick up,” Alistair answered with one cheek full of apple. “Why? Did you?”

“I wanted out. I guess I got out.” She resumed her stargaze. “I’ve never seen the stars before Duncan fixed me up.”

“Really? Never? Oh, right, all the lights. I suppose The Strip blocks them all out, huh?” he stargazed with her for a moment; feet rocked faster to compensate for stillness. He couldn’t recall how it felt to see the night sky again after emerging from the bunker with his Grey Warden mentor half a year ago.

“I’ve never heard silence either. It’s never quiet on The Strip.” _Ah. There it was._

_The Brotherhood of Steel had told him to shut up, the Grey Wardens who’d died at Ostagar had told him to shut up, Morrigan did worse than tell him to shut up. Now the new recruit, Alistair’s only sort of family anymore._

It was only proof he could trust no one. There was no such thing as family or friends in this world. The other Wardens certainly weren’t, why should she be? _Trust yourself, no one else._  

Alistair sniffed from the night chill of the barren land. He knew when he wasn’t wanted. A moment of awkward silence and fidgets passed before Alistair gathered his vodka and moved back to the fire. He topped himself with his raggedy cowboy hat, pulled it down over his eyes, and drank and rocked until he passed out.

 

 

The nightmares were awful. A wretched mix of a screeching ghoulish dragon, burning veins and flashes of neon red and glowing chartreuse. Alistair experienced over a dozen of these prior to the failure at Ostagar, and each woke him like a moonshine and mentats hangover; ready to vomit, clutching his chest in attempt to pump his heart, and trying  to scratch away the fire under his skin. Duncan had warned the dreams would get worse as the Archdemon grew stronger, but it seemed there was no end. He dreamed of the foul monster as often as he used to dream of normal things.

This nightmare was no less jarring. When Alistair pulled himself together and wiped the pain tears from his face, he found the new Warden retching, gasping between sobs and flexing her nails over her arm, shoulder, side neck. Alistair tried to ignore her with a toss of water. There was no consolation for these dreams, they robbed you of every ounce of courage, resolve, and whatever faith you had left.

“What the fuck did you give me last night? Did you poison me?!” _Still a cheerful tit._ Jamie coughed out each word, her voice like sandpaper from trying to spit up her Taint.

Alistair was conscious of his smirk as he grimaced into another drink; not at all his intention to smirk, but that’s what _Morrigan_ called it.  “You can’t blame me for that one. Blame the dead man who made you a Grey Warden.” He grabbed another bottle of water from his bag and rolled it without care. “That’s the _Archdemon_ letting us know he’s _waiting_ for us. Get used to it. They happen every few days.”

“Are _you_ used to them?”

“Not at all.” Alistair reached for a bottle of Mutts; once a deigning nickname for Ferelden natives dating back to the founding tribes for their hound obsession, now the name of local whisky flavored by smoked moss from the Fallow Mire. Alcohol was more important than food, in his experience as a Grey Warden, always guaranteed to numb something, wounds and nerves the same. Essential. Mutts just happened to taste better than the vodka he’d tried to drown in last night. He chugged straight from the bottle, lingering mouthfuls at a time until the fumes rose through his nostrils and the back of his tongue numbed. Another few sips for anesthesia’s sake, then he ground the cap back on and rolled it over. “Here. It gets rid of the taste.”

Silence haunted the early morning as Jamie drank like a practiced vagrant, bitter and unwelcoming as wasteland itself. Alistair stirred the fire, then sat back and stared; his eyes skittered to trace every flame. A pink hue to the east turned peach, then white so bright it overpowered the struggling blue sky. It was too quiet; _insisted_ silence. Alistair couldn’t handle insisted silence. His fingers twisted the cap of his water, sometimes off then back on, mostly over-twisting it on; not that he didn’t believe it was closed, but for the sensation, the turning, _moving,_ the feel of ribs and ridges shuddering his thumb. A glowing golden orb hovered over the Southron hills before anyone spoke. To Alistair’s dismay, the voice was Morrigan.

“Why am I not convinced this is the best way to defeat the Archdemon?”

“Your sharp diction and condescending tone are as lovely as they were yesterday, _Eddie,”_ Alistair grimaced his best _smirk_ for the pompous cyborg.

“Tis _Morrigan_ , lest you acquire a new scar on that _perfect_ Brotherhood complexion of yours. Speaking of which, no better place to start with those conscription Treaties for your war. Tis inadvisable to tarry in the land of fiends and raiders.”

“Back home is the _last_ place I wish to visit.” Digits and joints already strained for freedom in the memory of being punished for not sitting still. “Besides, I’ve _left_. They don’t exactly allow personal revocation. That’s what’s I’ll look like, you know that, right? _Oh look who’s back, poor Alistair couldn’t handle the big bad wasteland. What’s wrong Alistair, not a hero yet? Poor, poor Alistair,”_ he predicted what the other paladins would say. Time-out in a corner for uncontrollable tapping might be the least of his worries, though. If he wasn’t shot on sight for the likelihood of spilling Brotherhood secrets, they would try to retain him, _probably with another bomb collar,_ pick apart his brain for any Grey Warden tech knowledge. “You’re born into the Order, you know. If you leave after you’ve gone through the history lessons and weapons programming, you’re the enemy. I’d rather take my chances unarmed with the Archdemon.” To the others, he figured he appeared to be priming his fists to spar with the Wardens’ ancient enemy, but the thought of going back _home_ scraped like nails inside Alistair. He’d lost years trying to be _perfect_ in their eyes, only to learn he was _a liability_ to take outside and _problematic_ to keep inside.

“They may not kill a Grey Warden. Tis stated on the Treaties, which are bound to the creation and existence of each Order,” fingers tapped firmly into her other palm as she enunciated each syllable.

Alistair laughed at the irony. “What the Grey Wardens _used_ to be is the reason the Brotherhood is the _Brotherhood_ and _not the Chantry_ anymore. They’ll take one look at those Treaties and see _Enclave_ at the bottom, and curse the Maker’s return before painting the wall with my brains.”

“And when they kill the only ones capable of ending the Blight, then what? Neither radiation nor Taint is unprejudiced. Both will catch up to the Brotherhood. Tis better to end the threat now than delay until weapons have rusted and clean water is a myth.”

“Arguing with _me_ won’t change _their_ minds. They won’t see it like that either, all they’ll see is _If we wait for everyone else to die off, we’ll emerge with our lasers and plasma and turn that Archdemon to goo._ That’s the whole reason they exist anymore - to outlive the _impure_ and become the new _race_ of people. Save your arguments for _them;_ _I_ _already know_ what needs to be done.”

“Then we conscript the other races first, the dwarves and elves.”

“Stop telling _me_ what needs to be done!” Alistair snapped.

“Then since _he_ refuses, directing our advance falls to _you,_ Jeramie,” Morrigan stated.

“Wonderful. Appreciate it,” Jamie grumbled, immediately capping the bottle of Mutts with her mouth.

“Are you aware you’re not a Grey Warden?” Alistair glared, genuinely wondering if Morrigan’s memory chips were corrupted or mal-programmed. “You can’t dictate what we can and can’t do or assign us daily schedules.”

“And yet proof you _need_ me to lies in the procrastinator sitting on your bet mat.”

A noise reminiscent of disgust and annoyance left his throat. “ _Fine._ You want direction? _Eamon Geurrin_ , he runs the Crimson Caravan Company this part of Thedas. He would have resources, or know where to find them, and he supposedly was good friends with Cailan Theirin.”

The new Warden scoffed. “Cailan allowing someone to trade within The Strip doesn’t make them friends,” Jamie’s voice echoed within the emptying bottle.

“It’s as friendly with the royal casino as we’re going to find in this shit hole country!” Alistair shot back. “And considering he’s renowned for supplying the small businesses and traveling merchants, he’ll be a good ally. He can influence others to fight for us, and if not, we barter. Those who _don’t_ care to be his paid labor would probably jump at the chance to work off their contracts in war. Either they survive and enjoy a new world as free men, or they die and no longer have to suffer this junkyard.” He threw grit stuck in the trenches of his boots into the fire. A severe lack of options, and the two people he was stuck with wouldn’t stop pulling him down. Alistair had no better idea how to be a Grey Warden than Jamie, nor his dead mentor Duncan at that matter. Apparently being in the Order was easier back when the world functioned smoother, when they could parade around as the Enclave and get unlimited resources simply by stating their station. Two women who disapproved of him as much as much as the entire Brotherhood of Steel wasn’t exactly encouraging. “Of all the snobbish, degrading, fucking...” A growl rumbled through his throat, and Alistair stood up, immediately turning to jump atop the next layer of land around them.

“ _Oh_ , this must be you taking initiative,” Morrigan taunted.

“No, this is me taking a piss away from cyborgs and casino owners. Brotherhood regulations _six_ and _nineteen:_ Self-exposure to the wicked is forbidden in the eyes of the Maker, _and_ , Synthetic humanoids are the abominations of the tech age. Follow me if you want, _Eddie,_ just know I’ve got good aim and I didn’t drink enough to replace your cleaning fluid.” Alistair turned and mimicked sizzling and crackling noises, convulsing his hands increasingly apart to parody an electrical explosion.

Fake eyes narrowed over crossing arms. “ _Why_ mother chose to save such an insolent, immature-”

“ _Annoying_ , _irresponsible_ , thick-headed, air-brained, _useless_ , waste of good air and water!” Alistair finished for the cyborg. “There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already heard! I’ve got the rest of the list memorized if you need help insulting me by lunch time!”

The good thing about the wasteland was Alistair never ran out things to hit. Like a desert in most aspects, resilient creatures of the land provided a ripe source of mutated targets. Alistair knew his weapon inside and out, a powerfist - a collection of electronics welded into a gauntlet that wore like a hammer. Often an instant bringer of death, and for those it didn’t outright kill, it sent a cascading charge of raw lightning. Alistair had modified it himself, and every time his metal fist cracked bones, with skittish jumps of electricity, the reverberating jolt back into his own arm reminded him he was alive. _One more day._ Allowed to move, allowed to stretch, _allowed to_ _be himself. The freedom to survive by choice_ , not because someone else demanded his savant skills endure for the next generation to inherit.

It wasn’t that Alistair enjoyed the devastated world. Though he hated having to fight for a safe place to sleep at night, it was something he grew accustomed to as a child and then again as a Grey Warden. _Freedom_ kept him going however. Personal freedom, the dream of waking up when he wanted to and indulging in his own desires, rather than live by a schedule or duty roster that fit a plan for someone afraid of discovering himself. He longed for the day he could dance around his own home singing at the top of his lungs to a blaring radio, drum along his own table and walls, and _robots_ \- he wanted to build his own robot, or maybe ten, and then dismantle them and rebuild all over again; life-size three-dimensional puzzles. _A silly dream,_ he knew, but it was strong enough to keep the gun out of his mouth each night. Alistair refused to give up his dream until he searched Thedas high and low.

Being a Grey Warden was supposed to better than _just trying to survive_ though. While it wasn’t common knowledge they used to be the Enclave, they were still on the top of the mercenary food chain. The most reliable free organization around Thedas, especially in Ferelden. Under this assumption, traveling with this new Warden _should_ have been a breeze. The cyborg perfectionist and the dreamer-of-silence made it unbearable. They pestered Alistair the first time his hands tossed at his sides; snapping, flicking his thighs, flicking buttons, drumming on his Pip-boy. Fidgeting with his Pip-boy radio wasn’t any better for they were out of range, and Alistair’s _colleagues_ moaned and whined about the static as well. What Alistair thought was an opportunity only caused more trouble: Jamie didn’t know how to read the Pip-boy Morrigan’s _mother_ had provided; Morrigan couldn’t wear one because her electricity combat programming interfered with Pip-boy sensors, and it prevented her from transforming into the combat eyebot. _Finally! Something Alistair could help with!_ He knew his own Pip-boy like the back of his hand - and it sort of was: personal information processors, like fancy bracelets that monitored health, geography and incoming motion, and picked up radio signals; tiny computers that allowed Alistair to interfere with nearby tech. But when he offered to help Jamie learn her device, she shoved him in a fit of profanity and perverse accusation. Defending himself did Alistair no good, she only yelled and threatened to leave if he came any closer. He found a branch to thump things as he stomped - tried to find that _music_ in his bones again, feel the calming vibrations, reassure himself _it would be fine_ , to remember his dream and continue on - but he was scrutinized for this also.

 _Then_ the first attack: giant mutant geckos revealed Jamie had no combat training whatsoever. Only after Morrigan pressed for why she fled instead of assist did Jamie admit she’d never learned, fighting wasn’t the job of women in the prominent families of New Denerim. Morrigan couldn’t train Jamie because her human form was designed for medical practices, and the eyebot form moved in ways not possible for humans.

Everything fell to Alistair’s shoulders. From navigating to catching fresh dinner to setting up camp - and apparently keeping the new Grey Warden alive -  it was all Alistair’s job. He was in charge of women who _loathed_ him; if he had somewhere to flee, he’d have laughed in their faces before skipping off. Unfortunately he couldn’t flee though, and neither could Jamie. After a long and unpleasant conversation, he convinced Jamie she needed to help fight and find food, though Morrigan’s agreement was what swayed Jamie. She agreed to let Alistair train her on his powerfist but she couldn’t throw a punch to save her life, then she refused to let him touch her to align her shoulders and fists. Jamie couldn’t protect herself when they sparred. After the second day, she was purple and black and stubborn, refusing to quit and refusing advice. Nights ended in verbal abuse, Morrigan teaming up with Jamie, and Alistair sitting out of earshot from them both. Alistair went through more liquor than usual to rush the onset of sleep, only to start the pattern of his new life all over again come sunrise. He woke every morning ready to punch something new - and was criticized when he did.  

Alistair _wanted_ to help Jamie. He wanted someone to rely on in this wretched world, he wanted someone to _talk_ to, but it was a doomed goal. All attempts were taken offensively, she refused to see anything other than his help was meant to make her look bad. Alistair’s favorite part of any day used to be finding cactus pears, though not anymore. Cactus pears were a tricky fruit, you didn’t dare bite into it because of prickly skin and an annoying count of stone-like seeds, and while they were sweet and quenched thirst, they _had_ to be skinned, then suck the fruit and spit seeds; a tedious task just for a little food, but it satisfied Alistair’s itch for motion down to the last bit of pulp. Jamie _didn’t need_ his help; and it was _his_ fault when she chipped a tooth on a seed.  Sipping liquor all day was the only way for Alistair to endure.

 _Novac._ Alistair had never been more relieved to see this town in his life. Long ago a thriving farming community known as Lothering, now it was a hamlet of surprisingly intact houses and ruined land recognized for its tourist hotel and its mascot dragon statue. The Dragon Dee-Lite was a gift shop with accompanying motel, put in at the turn of the technological age as a tourist magnet for travelers wanting to see the nearby attractions: Solis One, home of the largest satellite on Thedas; and REPCOT - Rocket Engineering and Production Company of Tevinter, Ferelden branch - the second-largest satellite on Thedas and the site of rocket test-launching. These days, the Dragon statue was simply a watchtower, chipped and faded, and the motel was the local apartment complex. Small town, little in the way of work and currency, but always hosting a traveling merchant and never a lack of alcohol or dragon souvenirs.

It was early evening when sore feet and waning boots approached the motel. _Eight days,_ that’s how long it took the three of them to get there from where Morrigan’s _mother_ patched them up after losing the battle at Ostagar. It should have only taken them five days, but with Alistair pulling all the weight they were sluggish. Ragged residents and a merchant’s brahmin loitered in the makeshift enclosure of the motel parking lot.

“I’ll see if they have rooms. Go...find some food. Or more Mutts,” Alistair said,

“Didn’t listen, _as usual_.” Jamie’s pompous condescending attitude closely matched Morrigan’s. “I can’t fight. Remember? Or should I spell that out for you?” her mouth stretched  beneath cold stormy eyes.

Alistair matched her smile. “Only lunatics yell at their pockets.” he dropped the fake facade and pointed to the merchant. “ _Barter_ , Jamie. I know The Strip taught you _something._ ” With a groan, Alistair spun and made his way into the lobby.

The motel owner was out of place in the wasteland.  Some called her _Mother,_ some called her by name, either way Jeannie May held the town together. Too helpful, too cheerful, too caring, able to sway difficult merchants just as she could comfort a lost lonely soul. The residents revered her. But she gave Alistair free Sundown Sarsaparillas every time he passed through, so he never bothered to decode her suspicious gaiety. _Sundown Sarsaparilla,_ one of the wonders of the wasteland: honey, licorice root and golden beets, an odd combination that trickled down Alistair’s tongue like liquid candy. She leased Alistair the remaining room with an armful of bottled Sundown Sarsaparillas.

Alistair balanced his return walk to Jamie and Morrigan, but as he unloaded half of the sweet drinks to his fellow Grey Warden, another suspicious local caught his attention. Maroon beret clashing against cherry hair, dark sunglasses despite sunlight was disappearing, and a sniper rifle on her back.  Alistair stared as she passed, and though he couldn’t see her eyes, he swore she stared back. She was here when Alistair passed through with Duncan three months ago, just as unwelcoming, taking up night watch in the mouth of the dragon statue.

“I’m genuinely surprised you’re not drooling.”

Alistair turned back to Jamie with a roll of his eyes. “I’m surprised a lady from The Tops doesn’t make a priority to find out who’s armed.” One arm now free, he held up the room key. “There’s only one room, top-left. Stay out here if you want, but I want to put my feet up.” He left the temperamental Warden and took the stairs two at a time.

A single bed, queen-sized and large enough for two people. Morrigan wouldn’t need it, she always recharged in eyebot form. It would be down to both Wardens. Jamie joined Alistair in the staring match against the bed.

Regretting it already, Alistair spoke first: “You take the bed.” He would fit better in the bed, but unfortunately, the Brotherhood had instilled a virtue in him he couldn’t dismiss: ladies first; and as the paladins said when superiors weren’t around _if not to woo her, then do it to stay on her good side._

Jamie hesitated. “Where will _you_ sleep?”

Alistair met her eyes. An innocent enough question for her - if she hadn’t addressed him as _Pervert_ these past few days. It wasn’t worth it to end the night with another degrading spar. Alistair refused to play her game, lady or not. He made a noise from the side of his mouth. “ _Aw_ , your _heart_ is thawing. You might want to check the icebox, I think it still works. Have you back to normal in no time.”

A scoff dripping with The Strip’s grandiose. Alistair swerved around Jamie, jostling her out of his path to signal the end of talk. He dragged the couch away from the bed against the opposite wall. Filthy and stained though not as dirty as the bed. Alistair shrugged out of his trench coat and covered the couch. He flopped down on his back, hanging his feet over the other armrest; he was a good half-a-leg too long. Amber eyes followed Jamie as she cautiously sought a bathtub. Alistair grinned to himself, if she thought the bed was disgusting, she was in for a surprise: common knowledge across the wasteland - you don’t take a bath unless you’re on The Strip, in your own bunker or Lake Calenhad, or unless you want to soak in whatever came up from the busted old well systems. He adjusted throw pillows under his coat and sank in, giggling at the sounds of utter revolt that drowned out his Pip-boy.

A coo of glee escaped Alistair before he could stop it. _They were in range of radio stations!_ He almost shot up to dance even before settling on a program; he’d been _aching_ for music. Only in range of three stations, but that didn’t matter. Upon tuning into Radio New Denerim, he jumped - urgent trumpet plucked his heart, announcing a beat his fingers couldn’t help but strum to.

 _“Yippee yayyyyyyy, there’ll be no wedding bells for today!”_ Alistair  _loved_ to sing. As a child wandering with the Brotherhood procurement specialists, he’d taken to music the first time he heard radio. There was no radio in the bunker, but after Duncan conscripted him into the Grey Wardens, Alistair got his hands on an old music book and memorized every song played on Radio New Denerim and Ferelden Music Radio. Duncan had called him a _baritone,_ though as Alistair learned the songs of the wasteland, he discovered he could reach notes the music book called _low bass_ and _high tenor._ Easier to sing in his natural _baritone,_ though he couldn’t help but make his voice _dance_ \- that’s what it felt like, anyway. _“Bummm-bummm-bummm-dum-da-dum,”_ he hummed the bass guitar, drumming his fingers and palm on his thigh, closing his eyes to better feel it. Projecting his voice fulfilled the urge to move in ways like no other, _intense vibrations,_ and he could distinguish them from within as he sang. Hitting the deep notes spread _motion_ from his chest out to every limb and digit in slow cascades. The high notes performed the same but _swift,_ allowing for faster changes. When he sang all three variations, like with this song, it was _definitely a dance,_ quick tight waves thrumming, giving in to dips and twirls, pumping the music through his blood like an Antivan dress in the breeze. Strange that _moving_ relaxed him, but it was his truth. A flood of relief, a _calm place;_ Alistair valued music more than food and water. Feminine voices not associated with the song flew right over him as his head, his feet, his legs, _everything_ danced to the rhythm reverberating from the machine at his wrist. “I got spurs that jingle jangle jingle-”

 _“SHUT UP!”_ shrill women cried in unison.

Alistair’s eyes popped open in start. Jamie and Morrigan glared, both ready to murder him or tear their hair out. _Shit._ The side-effect of music: it transported him to a different world. Normally this wasn’t a bad thing, but it clearly wasn’t the same case with these women.

Jaw clenched, lips stretched in a twitching sneer. _“Try_ to be a little more accommodating to the _rest_ of us, will you?” Jamie said through her teeth.

Alistair groaned out a scoff, eyes rolling. He unhooked his ankles and sat up, lowering the volume on his Pip-boy though refusing to turn it off. “Since when is _music_ not allowed? You realize this is a free country.”

“Actually, it’s not. It’s owned by Cailan.”

“And Cailan’s _dead,”_ he retorted. _“Fuck!”_ He got to his feet and grabbed his jacket. “You know, _fuck all_ of this! Do you have _any_ idea how much work it’s been for _me_ to get _us_ here?” he glared at Jamie while he wove his arms back through long sleeves. “The _least_ you could do is let me keep the radio on!” He shoved each sleeve up his arm.

“The _radio_ , I don’t mind.” Alistair hated the evil satisfaction in her smirk.

“You know what - just... _don’t. Just don’t.”_ He shoved past her again to raid the fridge and cabinet. Three bottles of Mutts, that should tide him over.

Muttering curses at both women as he shuffled back outside with his backpack ended in the door locking behind him. Another laugh to himself, this one of disgust and _self-pity._ _How did he get here? How did this become his life? Why did he stay?_ These women had no respect for him, yet he catered to every _Alistair I’m hungry, Alistair where’s my bed?, Alistair light a fire, Alistair! A bloatfly! Kill it!_ \- as if  he didn’t have to dance halfway to Par Vollen to kill one, the way they skittered. It made demands like _Alistair! A fire gecko! Kill it!_ seem like a stroll through The Strip.

 _“Fuck!”_ he winced, turning to slam his fist, then foot into the door. His knuckles tingled from the metal door and not in a good way. He wished he didn’t need Jamie, but until he magically found another Grey Warden, Alistair was stuck with her. Wasn’t he?

The old open garage used as storage was the most welcoming place right now. Remains of an old gas station right outside the motel, shelves of scrap metal and broken tools, empty bottles of turpentine and wonderglue. The garage hid him well, three walls, piles of tires, junk metal. Alistair had a view of the motel and the _Wardens_ room. For a while, he enjoyed the lonesome garage. Leaning against one tower of tires, his feet propped up on a stack of two, _here_ he could drink and tap and sing. He kept voice low to avoid attention, but it was still vocal vibration, and his feet bounced atop the tires. No one yelled _STOP_ or shot him dirty looks or glared like he wasn’t worth their time.

Tapping away and drinking amongst the old tires became _not enough_ when the Mutts hit the back of his throat with a woozy rush to his brain, though. No longer itching to move to calm  himself, Alistair sat bored. He capped the bottle and stood, tiptoed around old rubber and rusting metal until he stood under the stars. A chill wind, empty sky. A sliver of a moon hung in the sky; Satina, some ancient Tevene name, the only of the two moons visible without a telescope. He scoffed in memory of Jamie gazing so studiously at the night sky a week ago, wondered if she lied about this. Just the thought of her made him tick, his neck first, then hands. Fingernails tapped on the Mutts bottle, but need for more fulfilling movement called. His feet began, legs rising to meet the bottle; he didn’t care where he was going, just needed to move. The bottle _clanked_ , and Alistair froze. Forgetting he had anything in his pocket that _clanked,_ he paused his feet to find the source of metal in his jacket.

A laugh, loud and hollow, erupted as his fingers closed around a key. He held the key up in the light. The girls had locked him out of the room _but he had the key!_ He almost couldn’t wait to see their faces when he unlocked the door and barged in. A glance back to the inactive room said they probably didn’t realize he had the key.  With another laugh, Alistair tossed the key up and caught it -

 _A flash of light._  He almost missed it. Alistair whipped his head and stared into the dragon’s mouth. Literally.

Alistair thought he imagined it, only momentary after all, might have been the key reflecting the moon for all he knew. Pocketing the key, Alistair kept his eyes on the shadowed mouth of the dragon statue in front of the Dragon Dee-Lite motel.  When he failed to see the flash again, he turned back; just in case, it might be safer to walk through town, not out of it. Another few steps, and there it was again. His heart skipped and sped up. _What was that?_ He wished he had that night vision _Cat-Eye_ drug Duncan had mentioned once. Peeking at the dragon’s mouth as he stepped away, he saw something shift between the statue’s teeth. Narrow, long. A sniper rifle; _the suspicious red-head._ He gave a huff of irony. Another woman wanting to kill him? Alistair just found Jamie and Morrigan a new friend. Death wasn’t a fear or against his goals, but...he wasn’t _quite_ ready yet. If a clear path was open to the dream he longed for, he would kill anyone to get there. Alistair wasn’t comfortable with being a target yet.

He walked soft, lifting the gate to prevent noise when he cracked it open to slip through; the last thing he needed was for the women to burst out yelling because he let the gate creak.

 _“In Peace, Vigilance_ , eh?” a voice said. Alistair froze in mid-turn and looked around. A salt-and-pepper man, rifle on his back, adorned in patchwork clothes and an old cowboy hat sat on the steps. A smile played at a mouth that pursed to inhale from a glowing cigarette.

“In what?” _Where had he heard that before? In Peace, Vigilance?_ It sounded so familiar to Alistair.

The smoking man gave a nod toward the Wardens’ door. “The road did not agree with your lady friends, I take it?” an Orlesian accent; Alistair heard more of these as  time went on. No way to control border crossings unless you lived in the Anderfels.

“You could say _that_ again. And _again and again and again_...” Alistair answered.

The smoking Orlesian laughed. Alistair resumed his path toward the gift shop; the entrance to the dragon’s mouth. “A bit of advice, young friend, if I may?” the Orlesian stopped him again.

Alistair’s eyes moved from the Wardens’ door to the smoking Orlesian. “Couldn’t hurt, I suppose.”

“Keep your eyes open at all times. You never know when help may be around the corner.”

 _Help? With Jamie and Morrigan?_ Alistair stared at his party’s door, and when he turned again the smoking Orlesian vanished into a ground-floor room. _That’s new._ Alistair couldn’t recall the smoking Orlesian from when he passed through with Duncan.

He continued once more. Creeping up the old wooden steps was trickier, but this door was kept oiled and unlocked at all times, and the body of the dragon statue itself was great insulation. Alistair crossed the slumbering gift shop and opened the door to the dragon’s mouth without anything above a whisper. The cherry-haired sniper didn’t even notice him until he let the doorknob click back into place behind him; chin-length locks flew around under the beret as she spun and drew a combat knife.

Alistair held his hands up to show he wasn’t armed; well, aside from him powerfist. “You know, for a _sniper_...” he began.

She clutched her chest with a wheeze. “Maker’s Breath! Don’t sneak up on me like that! What were you thinking?”

 _Maker’s Breath? Ugh,_ she was one of _those_ people, the crazy ones who still believed the Maker was here or returning soon; an opinion that faded from general public centuries ago. _And Orlesian_ , her accent just as thick as the smoking man’s.

“I was thinking I’d try to be sneaky,” he answered simply. _“Why_ do you want to kill me?” he asked, eyeing for other weapons as she sheathed her knife.

“I am not trying to kill you.”

“You were _aiming_ for me.”

“I...had to be sure.” a faint reflection moved in the dark as her eyes darted. “I overheard you and your friends at the gate. I _know_ what you _are_.”

“ _That’s_ a hat-full of vague nug shit,” Alistair accosted.

“I _mean_ to say, I _know_ you need _help_. _I_ just so happen to need help _also,_ ” she implied a compromise.

“You point a _gun_ at my head and then want me to cooperate? Why do I suddenly feel like a hostage?” he sighed, glancing around outside of the dragon’s mouth. “Okay, first of all, you’re up in the mouth of a statue with a sniper rifle. Just who are you?”

“My name is Leliana Boone. I think we can help each other.”

  
  
  
  



	3. When is it Too Much?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The need for aid to defeat the Blight pushes Alistair against his personal morals. Reaching out to new Warden Jamie for help only amplifies her hostility toward him. Despite her continued abuse, Alistair realizes without another Grey Warden to take his place, he can't pursue freedom. Jamie is becoming a prison he can't escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Trigger Warning*** Abuse - verbal, physical, self-depreciation. Substance abuse - alcoholism. Angst, Violence.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [ Radio New Vegas (Fallout New Vegas soundtrack)](https://youtu.be/uAczEvYIukA)

 Alistair stared down the sniper in the darkness of the dragon’s mouth.

“Leliana,” he echoed. “ _Okay_. Nice to _meet_ you, I’m _Alistair_ , blah blah _pleasantries_. What do you _mean_ you know what I am? I’m a Grey Warden. I don’t parade it, but it’s not a secret.”

“I know the history of this country and _your people_ well,” the cherry-haired woman spoke in her shadows of safety.

“Oh good, and here I was worried you’d be all _cryptic_ and _mysterious,_ ” he said wryly.

“When you spend your life looking through a spotting scope, you have to be.” Even in blackness he felt the intensity of her glare.

“Alright.” Alistair folded his arms over his chest. “Since I was smart enough to meet the hunter in her nest, the fact that you haven’t killed me yet means you have something only _my people_ can help with.”

“I’m sure I could find someone else competent enough later on, but I know your mission requires you leave community behind. I could help you, you know; I want to leave this place,” words short and confident, the Orlesian accent penetrating honeyed tones added sincerity to her request. “But first, I need help from someone able to sneak like you have. Someone able to use their reputation to get information. You have been here before, the residents adore you, you are already more that I was hoping for.”

“People adore me? _Me?_ I think maybe you’ve been staring into that scope _too_ long. _Nobody_ likes me.”

“You need help to end this Blight. I have been praying for resolve, a way to show those who wrong others for personal gain this is not the way to earn favor from the Maker and bring back life. If you help me with this, I will gladly lend my weapon for your cause.”

 _Blight._ She wasn’t kidding when she said she _knew._ Alistair nearly laughed at his own irony; if he portrayed a Grey Warden so well, others who also knew history would see the Enclave in him as well. Despite her _Maker_ talk, it appeared he might need her gun; and it would be nice not to be the only one killing anymore.

“All right,” he agreed, “I’m listening.”

Leliana’s wife had been kidnapped shortly after they settled in Novac. The kidnapping had been dealt with, the act itself was no longer an issue. However, recently a resident slipped up, made a remark that was too close to home for the apparent random event. Her wife, Marjolaine, had been admired for her beauty, not her attitude toward the citizens; always preferring the big cities like New Denerim and Orlais’ capital Val Royeaux, though they’d agreed a small town was better to raise a family. The day watch sniper, Vargas, had slipped up on a night of heavy drinking: _should have gotten more for that bitch._ When Leliana had questioned the other residents on the remark, she became the talk of the small town, pity encouraged by _Mother_ Jeannie May who immediately began referring to Leliana as the _daughter she never had._

“Great,” Alistair interrupted. “So you weaseled out of a permanent contract and gained a mother instead. _I_ fail to see the concern, especially if its been dealt with.”  

A noise of disgust expressed what Alistair could not see in the shadows of the dragon’s mouth. “It is _suspicious_ because prior to my inquiring, I was asked no less than twice a week when I would leave to start a new life,” Leliana explained. “As I said, I already know the kidnappers, and it is done with. I need someone like you to search for information. Slavers keep records. If someone here was involved, I wish to know. Marjolaine and I had trusted these people with our lives. If they betrayed us, I will even the score.”

 _“Someone like me,_ ” Alistair repeated her words.

“It takes a sneak to find a sneak. You snuck up on _me_ ,” she reminded.

“I- no, that’s true. But say I find something? Then what? I’ll just wait to sunrise with an incriminating piece of paper?” he asked.

“No. I will deal with them.” in what little light reached the dragon’s mouth, arms moved up then down, and something soft was pressed against him. Alistair’s fingers caught woven wool with a narrow rim. _Her beret._ “If you find the one responsible, wear this and bring them out in front of the dragon. I will do the rest.”

“Isn’t this maroon? Ah, I suppose I should be thankful it’s dark out. No one will see it _clash_ with my paramount ginger mane.”

He took her silence for an eye-roll.  “I will wait here. Please try to hurry. I will need to refill my coffee soon.”

The motel parking lot was as still as the gift shop now, except for insects that emerged when people retired.  Mutated moths the size of a fist flapped drunkenly beneath a dim flickering glow of the remaining lamp, venturing out only to swallow irradiated lacewings. Within seconds of digestion, the moths shimmered in radioactive iridescence, making them the new fireflies of the nuclear age. A pretty sight, until they froze in mid-flight, strobed until they dropped dead, and were confiscated for larval food by small, scuttling radroach scouts; _small_ as in the size of Alistair’s foot, compared to the normal size of his thigh.  Drawn leather boots epitomizing Alistair’s life crunched over crumbled asphalt, raking anxiety into the already timid creatures.  

For being such an old lock, the key turned silently, the door equally hiding Alistair’s intrusion into the lair of the slumbering. Morrigan hovered in the air like a buoy atop gentle rolling waves, her usual dim-yellow _Standby_ indicator blinking. Alistair stood over the bed. A bottle of wine lay on its side, a shining stain puddling beneath the neck, bottle nearly empty. A _smirk_ stretched from one corner of Alistair’s mouth; Jamie fell asleep drinking. For all the bitching and moaning, no one drank as much as she did without trying to numb life. She seemed at peace now. Jamie was _pretty_ like this...lying still and untroubled...and Morrigan over in the corner like a comforting steel sphere of a nightlight. Sweet and pleasant like this, both unable to talk or sneer or bitch about his every move. He almost wondered if he should indulge the moment; this would never happen on the move.

A nudge from the back of his mind ticked his jaw. _Ah_ , but he would never get another moment like _this_ either.

 _“JAMIE WAKE UP!”_ Alistair yelled, shaking her shoulders.

A trilling alarm blared like a military war horn and Morrigan’s sensors flashed scarlet. Jamie flailed so fast in drunken stupor she completely tangled herself, cursing, kicking, wine bottle crashing to the floor, yelping like a caught dog. Panic echoed around the room in high-pitched shrieks, neon red bursts and _WARNING! WARNING!_ chanted from the giant ball of warped plates and gadgets. Jamie fell off the bed wrapped like a cocoon. Morrigan fired two bolts of electricity - the second shattering the lamp on the nightstand -  before unfolding into her human form. Alistair leaned back against the wall with a grin to admire his handiwork.

 _“Oh!”_ if Morrigan could growl, this was it. _“Of all the senseless, inane imperiling-”_

“How the fuck did you get in here?” a groggy voice surfaced from the beneath sheets.

Alistair focused on the tangled mess of noble woman to drown out the ranting cyborg. “Oh good, you’re awake!” he kept his grin.

 _“-mindless imbecile!”_ Morrigan continued.

“Fucking idiot. What is wrong with you?” Jamie jerked the sheet off and plopped face-down in bed.

“ _Nope!_ No more sleeping! I have a job, one that will land us a proper gun. You know how to sneak liquor well enough, can you pick locks  as well?” Alistair asked, clapping his hands in wide swings around him to dull Morrigan better.

“Not when my eyes are closed,” Jamie mumbled into the mattress.

 _“-I almost set the room ablaze!”_ Morrigan flustered. Alistair rolled his eyes.

A loud snore drew his attention back to Jamie. Sprawled all over the bed, mouth hitched open. _She was asleep again? Already?_

 _“No!_ _No_ no no!” Alistair swung his leg up to kick dirty bare feet. “Jamie, _wake up!_ We have a _job_ to do! It needs to be done _now!”_ Another prod to both feet until she groaned.

“So do it yourself.”

“No,” he decided, “absolutely not. I can’t pick locks, and _we need_ an extra gunman. I can’t do everything by myself, _I want_ someone who will help pull weight. So _get up,_ we are doing this job _._ You can sleep all day tomorrow. It’s not like we have any _important world-saving stuff_ to do, anyway.”

“And he does not even care!” Morrigan scoffed. Alistair glanced over to see her thin arms falling back to her gaunt sides.

“You’re right as always, _Eddie,”_ he shook his head, slow blinks; Morrigan’s right eye twitched. “I don’t care about you at all.”

“If I am unable to recharge, my sensors will not work when we need them!” a shrew machine indeed.

Alistair couldn’t help a laugh. “Oh, no, your sensors _definitely_ work!” he tittered.  He gave another jab to Jamie’s foot. “Get up! Or I’ll drag you outside in those _lovely_ panties you’re wearing and summon all these _sex-starved_ residents,” another amusing thought to keep him going. One more nudge to her heel.

“Touch me again, and I’ll stab your wank with a broken bottle!” Jamie threatened as she rose to her knees. She sat and clutched her head for a moment, a wince distorting her whole face with a heavy _fuuuuuuuuck!;_ wine hangover; Alistair almost laughed again.   

“It’s called a _penis,_ Jamie. All that fancy money, and they didn’t teach you anatomy? Even _I_ know what _that_ is.” He watched her mumble and groan nonsensically as she braced to stand. “But don’t you _dare_ ask to see it, it’s _highly allergic_ to you, it’ll _shrivel_ up and die.” Alistair bent to grab the pants crumpled on the floor, but she interrupted.

“Get your fucking hands off!” Jamie barked, yanking her pants from his grip. “You fucking pervert with your fucking foot fetishes, sneaking into my room just to catch me sleeping!” she muttered, before whirling with a craze in her eyes; Alistair leaned back to keep her nose from touching him. “You _sick_ fucking cunt! You don’t get to barge in a girl’s room and take her clothes!” _What the fuck? “_ You don’t tell me what I can’t wear! You don’t own me!” dusty leather stung his cheek as she struck him.

“Don’t fucking hit me, Jamie, or I _will_ take your clothes! Do you _want_ to walk naked? Do you _want_ me to touch you?” Alistair had no problem pushing her out of his way. She was the worst violent drunk he’d ever met.

“Get your fucking hands off me!”

“Because that’s what it sounds like!” He held her wrists to keep her from fighting. “You should listen to yourself, you _sound_ like you’re _begging,_ probably because you think you have the right to fuck everyone and now you’re upset _I’m_ not giving it.”  Alistair shoved off from her and opened the door. “You took your own damn pants off. If you want to get laid so bad, use Morrigan. Have at it all night if you want! You get the whole damn room to yourself!” He pointed outside. “But _right now,_ get downstairs and unlock the lobby. That’s the only place with a locked safe in this town, so _that’s_ where I need to be, and you _will_ help because having that sniper tag along will help keep your ass alive.”

The drunk Warden glared at him, stumbling into the wall as she jerked her pants up one leg at a time. “Go fucking do it yourself and leave me alone!”

“I can’t pick locks. I have _man hands_ , darling.” the smile refused to reach his eyes as he wiggled his fingers in the air.

“You and your perverted-”

“Bobby pins are too small for my fingers!” he interrupted. “If you’re not down there in thirty seconds, you’ll go straight to the corner in time-out. One, two...” Alistair glared at her as he took a wide step away from her presence. He counted the whole way, too, every other step was a new number. The lobby was less than thirty seconds away, so Alistair waited, tapping hand and foot and nodding to every count.

Just as he was about to yell for Jamie to bring a time-out chair, she stepped off the staircase. Alistair watched her, eyes narrowed deeper with foot that closed the distance between them. _“Barely_ arriving in time to shirk time-out. _Somebody_ is afraid of punishment. Did you get put in time-out a lot as a kid? _I_ did. Corners are _very boring_.”

“Don’t even try to play nice, asshole. After you stormed in the room, woke me up after only two hours-”

“What are _you_ complaining about? I haven’t slept _yet,”_ he interjected.

“- _beat_ me awake and tried to steal my clothes!” she ignored him.  

“It’s called _helping._ You left them on the middle of the floor in the dark. That’s a _safety hazard_. What if you or Morrigan had _tripped_ over them? What if you’d _broken your necks?_ That would have been _horrible!_ ” Alistair sounded far from convincing. He made no effort to hide his _smirk,_ a box of bobby pins waiting on his open hand. Jamie glared harder with a noise of loathing as she swiped, nails scraping his palm the palm of his glove like a zipper. “Besides,” he leaned closer as she knelt in front of the door, “I _know_ you haven’t bathed in over a week. _Neither_ of us have, but that’s not the point. _Not_ that I’m _sure_ you’re not lovely naked, but I gather it took you about two weeks to get to Ostagar with Duncan. So two weeks _there_ , two days before the battle, _four_ days at Morrigan’s, and eight days _since_ Morrigan’s...A _month_ without a bath? You must smell like _every bouquet on the planet-”_ first her elbow, then her hand rammed his leg until he stumbled out of reach. “I fancy a strong bar of soap myself,” he laughed.

“Could you be _any more of an ass?”_ she hissed.

“I _can_ actually. What do you want to hear next, Wild Flower?”

“How ‘bout you shut the fuck up so I can listen for this lock! Or are you _hoping_ to draw attention to the fact we’re breaking and entering?”  

Silence for the mission’s sake didn’t take well with Alistair. His fingers and feet tapped, then his nails on the wall, scraping against the concrete wall before tapping again.

 _“Will you stop that?!”_ she hissed again.

“You know, this would be _so_ much easier if it were electronic. Do you know I can get an electronic lock open in three seconds flat?” he whispered back, looking around not to keep watch but for some sort of _motion. Back, forth_ , clenching his jaw to feel his muscles strain with each twist of his head. A click Alistair heard over his own voice was met with a sigh from Jamie. “Hey! Good job!” he breathed as they slipped inside the office. He closed the door silently behind him and turned on his Pip-boy light.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m some two-hour hooker!” she spat.

“ _Fucking void,_ Jamie! That was a _compliment!”_ he growled in his throat.

“ _Right_ , along _Wild Flower_ and _Can you just fucking die already.”_

“What? I never said -” he cut himself off. “You know what, never mind. Think whatever delusional thoughts you want.” He reached for her Pip-boy, but she yanked her left arm away with a shove from the other.

“Get your fucking hands off me!”

 _“Fucking -_ ” Alistair huffed, exasperated with trying to keep up with her verbal attacks. “I’m turning on your lamp. That’s all I’m doing. If you’d let me teach you how to use this thing, you could do this yourself right now.”

“I’m not convinced you’re just trying to be _nice_ when you scared the piss out of me just to wake me up. A simple _Hey Jamie, I need your help with something_ would have been _nice,”_ complaining even as he illuminated her Pip-boy so she could see in front of her.

“I _said_ that!” he reminded, stepping out of her reach as he released the machine at her wrist. Her eyes narrowed again, the lights below casting dramatic, eerie shadows upon her chin, upper lip, nose, blacking her eye sockets save for the glare in her eyes. _“And_ I woke you up quite fashionably,” he agreed.

 _“Why?_ What possesses a person to do that?”

“Erm...how about, I was getting in my chance before the two you start _pecking_ at me when the sun rises.”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a prick during the day, we would haven’t to keep an offense! You don’t own us, you know. Eventually someone will put you in your place, make you see you can’t order us around just because we’re women!”

“That is the most _irrelevant_ thing I’ve heard you say. The fact that you’re a Grey Warden completely dismisses that.” He pointed behind the counter. “The safe is there.”

Jamie’s turn to growl. Uncomfortable silence hung like a cloud while she made her way behind the lobby counter. She peeked at Alistair many times while she made herself comfortable down at the safe, head down, hips in the air, as if daring him to stare at her ass so she could yell abuses later. Alistair had no interest in her, and he hoped turning his back now expressed it strongly enough. He tugged open the fridge; most drink machines wore broken locks anymore. Ice cold, a welcome chill seeping through his fingers; _new sensation, less need to move._ The crisp release of the lid and full gulps drowned out other sounds in the room.

“Slaver invoice?” Jamie rose in doubt. Alistair looked over to see her squinting at a wrinkled sheet, trying to hide the brightness of her Pip-boy light with paper. She whipped her head over with deep brows.  “Are you trying to get us _killed? Stealing rights to slaves?”_

“ _Owning slaves_ doesn’t seem to bother you but _stealing ownership_ does. _Business profits, right,_ I get it. But Jamie, there’s something wrong with you.” Alistair set his Sundown Sarsaparilla on the counter and slid the page from her hand.

Alistair did not like what he read. Jeannie May - _Mother_ to the entire town, and always how Alistair had imagined his own grandmother would be like - had sold Leliana’s wife... _pregnant wife_ Marjolaine to the Legion, picked up - _kidnapped_ \- and transported by a group called The Carta, whom Alistair knew were an assassin force within the dwarven community. He knew little about this _Legion_ army except they were strict and bold, left no allowance for mistakes: death upon first error - they accepted no accidents or miscalculations; wars were not on miscalculation. But the Legion had been employed by Loghain Mac Tir, owner of The Ultra-Luxe, and rivaled in power - meaning money - only by Jamie’s family and Cailan the dead heir to the royal casino.

If Alistair agreed to let Leliana _take care of_ Jeannie May, he would gain a gun at his side. He desperately wanted a person he could rely on to watch his back, especially in battle. But killing a person like the _Mother_ who comforts this town...Alistair was _used_ to killing; used to combat, used to fighting for his life, used to killing for his own safety. But he was _always_ attacked _first._ He never once initiated combat - if there was a way around ghouls and geckos and scorpions and fiends, he always took them. It was part of his dream, he supposed, surviving another day hoping to find a paradise where he never had to fight anymore, where he could have friends and trust people. The Brotherhood’s old Chantry beliefs stuck with him a little as well, _kindness, cooperation, be a brother._ Jeannie May did _not_ fit what this paper was telling him; she was a kind woman, she always had a room for Grey Wardens, she always gave him free drinks and any surplus food lying around. He knew it was possible to be overly sweet.

But it was also possible to be a lying dirtbag who sold whatever they could for more money than they knew what to do with. Alistair knew the thought of having _more money_ than other people drove some to greed so intense they lost their minds and killed family; he’d read an old world _fiction_ book about a woman offering her children and husband to demons to be richer, more powerful - such a common thing that _leisure stories_ were based around it. And...Alistair _needed_ Leliana’s weapon skills...

“If you’re thinking about adding my name to that invoice-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he interrupted. He sighed, his chest tightening in conflict. “Do you know the lady who runs this place? Jeannie May?”

“No, and I don’t care to if she’s holding slaves anywhere, especially since we just stole her proof of sale.”

“Ok, then what would _you_ do?”

_“What?”_

“Jeannie May is a good person, she takes people in, gives them a home, keeps that...eager incompetent medic around so the people have _something_ to help when they’re sick...but she _sold a pregnant woman.”_

“You might want to ask that sniper how _she_ got her _wife pregnant.”_

Alistair sighed. “Could you _stop_ with the attitude for minute? Do we finish the job and kill Jeannie May so Leliana will help us survive? Or do we leave a good woman here to look after her town?”

“ _Oh_ , you suddenly have a _conscience?”_ she huffed, a crooked, empty smile rearing on her face.

“Excuse me?” Alistair looked her up and down, trying to find a bottle of alcohol she may have sneaked by him.

“You have _no_ problem with violence and killing every other day, so what’s one more tally mark?”

“I don’t kill people _just to kill them,_ Jamie. We fought people trying to kill _us,_ I _had_  to or else we would have _died.”_

A rippling laugh bubbled up, swaying Jamie on her feet. “You _shook_  me! You _broke_ into my room, _shook_ me like a rag doll, _kicked_ me, threatened to _parade_ me around _naked_ \- _not_ to mention _these!”_  a sharp gesture to her face, bruises still visible in the awkward lighting.

“Wha- you can’t _blame_ that on _me! You_ refused to fight! You _refused_ to learn to fight when I _tried to teach_ you! You kept your guard down and you got _hurt_ _!_ It was _practice!_ You were _supposed_ to be _sparring!”_ he reminded. “That’s _your_ stubborn mistake, not mine! And that room _isn’t yours! I_ paid for it, so _I_ have the _key!_ I didn’t even hurt you up there, anyway! At _best_ I startled you both, but I _don’t hurt_ you and I _don’t like_ killing when there’s _another way!”_

“Just forget it. Just fucking forget it!” she shoved around him, snatching a carton of cigarettes.

“So that’s it?” Alistair grabbed his drink and hurried after her as she yanked the door open. “You won’t help? _At all?_ This _affects us!”_ he turned off his Pip-boy light. “This affects how _we as Grey Wardens_ might fare in this mission!”

“Just fucking leave me alone! You’re no better than that slaving bitch, you know!” Jamie’s feet handled heavy on each step, rattling the rails as she ascended. “You _bitch_ and you _whine_ and _demand_ , and you _can’t_ do a _damn thing_ by yourself, and it’s always _J_ _amie this, Jamie that! Jamie do something! Jamie help, I can’t do anything! Jamie, I can’t tie my fucking boot! Cut up my beans, Jamie! Get me a drink Jamie!”_ she glared at him when turning the turning the corner faced her in his direction. “I’m _not_ your fucking _slave_ , Alistair! _Think_ for _yourself_ for once!” The door to _their_ motel room slammed shut behind her. Jamie didn't wait for the walls to stop shaking before she locked the door.  

Alistair might as well have been slapped with a powerfist. He stood below the elbow bend of the staircase, staring up. Not only had that been _loud_ and Alistair sure everyone heard, but it was _home_ all over again. The Brotherhood all over again. Every question he’d ever asked was met with _Just do your job, Alistair. Quit whining, you baby._ In the bunker it made him wonder if he really was just being whiny, maybe he _was_ just a clingy person always looking for attention. Jamie was no different, more intense, rather; the Brotherhood never hit him when he stood too close, and intoxication was prohibited.

A _woosh_ of a door daring to open, and another reached Alistair’s ears. He turned away and marched right back out to the old street in front of the hotel, hoping to avoid more confrontation or even someone question why his eyes were leaking. For him, alcohol turned him into a weepy mess once it wore off.

 _Fuck._ Alistair wiped his palm across his face to catch tears. _Fuck shit balls shit void!_ And another round of swearing when the trash tin he kicked turned out to be empty and crashed with resound into shelves and beams of the old garage. Maybe he didn’t know how to get to that dream he wanted but he knew he couldn’t get there with _this._ With _Jamie_ and her fucking shrieks of rape when he tried to do things like work her Pip-boy or stretch his arms. And _now,_ after _refusing_ to learn to survive so she wouldn’t have to help, after watching _Alistair_ chase after ghouls and geckos and radscorpions his own size so _she_ wouldn’t be hurt, she had the nerve to yell at him where everyone could hear how much of a _leech_ she thought he was.

Alistair couldn’t handle it. He knew he couldn’t ditch Jamie yet - he knew all Grey Wardens were needed to stop a Blight but he never learned _how_ or _why_ \- and he couldn’t just leave and expect _her_ to do the Grey Wardens job. Even with Morrigan, Jamie would refuse and curl up and drink herself to death before lifting a finger to save her own hide. _He couldn’t do it._ He couldn’t leave, couldn’t expect relief, couldn’t count on Jamie and couldn’t handle her, _just plain can’t do it anymore. Trapped. The bunker all over again,_ only now the walls binding him to _duty_ followed his every step.

Tired feet carried him as if in a trance. Trying to keep his eyes clear of tears, Alistair trudged down the considerate grade. His knuckles rapped upon _Mother_ Jeannie May’s front door, preparing in his head to ask her about the invoice, but as soon as she answered, he pocketed it. _Come with me,_ Alistair told her, _I’m sorry to wake you but I don’t know who else to ask. There’s something you need to see in front of the dragon statue. I don’t know what it is. I might need your help._ He must have looked convincing. Jeannie May walked at his side, assuring him he didn’t have to be afraid, said whatever spooked him probably wasn’t as bad as he imagined in the dark.

Four more steps to the dragon statue. Alistair flapped open the beret and shoved it on his head. The old woman remarked she always felt safer with snipers watching the town. They stopped walking just before the road broke in front of the statue. Alistair took a step away, and another, until he was out of reach, then he looked up at the blackness of the dragon’s mouth. _A single nod. A whispering pop._

 _Mother_ Jeannie May’s head exploded over the road beyond Alistair.

He kicked an eyeball away from his boot.

Alistair’s gut was lead that leaked metal down to his feet. Heavy, slow, a bitter metallic taste that rose in his throat as he climbed the stairs to Leliana. He shoved the beret and the slaver invoice at her in the dark. She thanked him, told him she was ready to leave when he was. _Not yet._ Alistair needed to get drunk fist. _Very drunk_. And there just so happened to be a new house on the market in Novac tonight, a house full of Mutts and beer.

Alistair drank until he vomited, and then he drank some more. Sleep finally claimed him on the bed of an innocent whose blood still painted his boot.

 


	4. Heartaches by the Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A forth member doesn't ease the journey like Alistair assumed. The disgruntled Wardens need coin to travel but the first job reveals a bounty for their heads and other complications, making Alistair question his place in the Wardens and his personal resolve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING** Angst, physical and verbal abuse, self-loathing, anxiety, depression, alcoholism.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [ Radio New Vegas (Fallout New Vegas soundtrack)](https://youtu.be/uAczEvYIukA)
> 
> **NOTE** Names of Characters/Locations may be altered to fit the DAO storyline.

_I wish I wasn’t here. I don’t know where to go, but I don’t want to be here. The radio on my Pip-boy is filled with sounds of joy and hope and struggles -_ hah! _\- of being in love -_ **_when_ ** _they let me leave it on, that is. But it’s such contrast to our party, it only adds to the feigned civility. Well, I say feigned civility; what I mean is the silence where we walk like we’re trying not to step on each others feet in between bouts of_ **_Alistair stop smacking_ ** _and_ **_Could you fucking breathe any louder Alistair!_ **

_Fuck my life. Literally, metaphorically, in every way possible. Please. Somebody, now._

_Why do I bother? Jamie looks at me like a nightstalker - cute when I’m tame, but as soon as I move out_ ** _her_** _comfort zone its back to KILL HIM BEFORE HE LAYS EGGS!_ _Jamie has a constricted comfort zone, too. Can’t yawn, can’t admire the scenery, can’t entertain myself in my head because any accidental smile_ ** _clearly_** _means I’m fantasizing about her. I thought Leliana being here would help. She’s a woman with purpose and it shows when she walks, and she offers options rather than a shrug and guess. They hate Leliana though, almost as much as me. She reminds them I am the senior Warden and I know the land better than Jamie so I should be included. Leliana says to let me sing; any hope is better than none. Suggesting I know what I’m talking about irritates the Wasteland Warden and her eyebot lapdog. They snap at the sniper like they snap at me. Nothing’s changed._

 _I need music. I need to move around, I need to touch things. I need_ **_something_** _. I’m going crazy._

 

 _Beer._ Alistair didn’t care for the taste, but the bubbles dancing over his tongue and tickling his throat as he swallowed mimicked action. Not that his body moved, but the swell of carbonation grazing his spine and ribs as it spilled into his gut was welcome. It was enough to get him through the nights.

Leliana lived on beer and pinyon nuts. That’s where Alistair got his fill. It started out with a simple pass of a bottle when Jamie harped on him for trying to sing and then escalated into _how annoying_ his _footsteps_ were. By nightfall, Alistair had gone through a dozen beers just to keep the motion alive inside his body. Apparently his drinking made Alistair even more unbearable; besides _whiny_ he became _alcoholic_ and _slob_ , and worse names when he tried to sing with a beer in his hand.

Solis One was the first stop. Two days from NoVac though the satellites were so large they seemed closer. Leliana relayed news of the NFR army having trouble configuring satellite realignment codes, and since the awkward party needed coin to cross the wasteland, Alistair’s affinity for tech might gain them enough to reach a merchant.

Alistair’s only complaint remained voiceless: he was nervous about being recognized. It was no secret Cailan had been the son of Maric “Mr. House” Theirin, but only the highest ranks within the Brotherhood of Steel knew _Alistair_ was _also_ Maric’s son; one of the many records the Brotherhood kept from the world. As far he knew, no one else was aware Maric had a second son. When Cailan emerged from the royal casino to take his place in battle, his likeness was passed around Pip-boys like an emergency news flash, not to mention Maric’s face had been long-known before Cailan - aside from ginger hair, Alistair was almost a spitting image of both. Duncan had advised Alistair to grow a beard if he intended to keep his parentage secret and possibly his life safe. But then Alistair’s ginger mane and beard made him stand out. The NFR had been under orders from Cailan, and from what Duncan said, knowing Cailan’s face was mandatory. Alistair couldn’t imagine what would happen if someone recognized him.

Jamie was not herself. Studying the horizon, skipping, _bouncing_ when the building came in view, almost dragging Morrigan. In set direction she rushed them all, piquing Alistair’s curiosity. He questioned her excitement; why would a building overladen with soldiers and advanced technology thrill her when she had no skills; _other than bitching,_ he added. “You realize they’re _army_ , right? With headquarters right outside your home? For someone intent to learn the night sky, you’re not at all worried they’ll _escort-_ ”

Firm hands landed flat on his chest and pushed. “ _Shut up,_ Alistair! My _brother_ is still out there! Just because _you_ hate your family doesn’t mean the world has to!” A loud curse jumped from her mouth, and her hands shoved again.

“Stop that!” Alistair couldn’t brace himself time, and as torn asphalt broke his fall, Jamie kicked his boot.

“You’re fucking heartless, you know that? Not everyone’s family _hates_ them!”

“Surely you can’t blame _Alistair_ for not knowing, can you?” Morrigan joined in. A smirk toyed on her synthetic mouth as Alistair stood with a glare. “ _He’s_ spent his _whole life_ with family who did not love him. Tossed around, unwanted, _every_ excuse they knew to get rid of him. Isn’t that right, Alistair? _Surely_ he is _naive_. We must show him _compassion._ ”

“No fucking excuses. He’s been a Grey Warden for six months. Old enough to fucking know better!” Jamie _spat_ at Alistair feet as she passed. “Keep your warped thoughts about my family to yourself!”

“And here I thought our little precious troupe couldn’t get any closer,” Alistair retorted. He reached in his back bag and pulled out a bottle of vodka. Not caring two hoots about either companion didn’t numb the memories of the bunker. _Fucking Morrigan,_ he should have known she’d pay attention to what made him tick. His neck and knuckles twitched as he tried to turn the cap. Pain in the ass to _need to move_ when he was already in motion.

Leliana took the bottle from him and spun the cap when Alistair couldn’t focus his hand enough. “Arguing like this will only make our journey difficult. It is easier to ambush a traveling band when the targets are in constant conflict with each other,” she tried to mediate.

Jamie scoffed. “We all know whose ass you kiss, so your words mean shit. _Let_ an ambush come. It would save me the trouble of traveling with you fucks.”

“My _rifle_ would _also_ save us the trouble of traveling together. For a woman who lacks self-defense, I advise you remember that.” The sniper's mouth curled at the corner when Alistair choked from laughing and swallowing in unison “My point is, the both of you are the only Grey Wardens in Ferelden as far as we know, and since the Blight can only be stopped by Grey Wardens, you must learn to make the best of your time together, and appreciate those who aid your mission.”

“Ugh. Yes, friendly shit.” Alistair chased his mutter with another gulp.

“And indulging his alcoholism helps keep us safe _how?”_ Jamie gestured.

“If you want a drink so bad, you should just ask,” Alistair mumbled into the mouth of the bottle.

“Piss off. Sucking up won’t change my mind, you’re still a whiny bitch!”

Alistair laughed into his drink. “I refuse to suck on _anything_ of yours, Jamie.”

“Both of you, please. It is not _Alistair’s_ job to keep everyone safe. I have seen him pull his share, Jamie. You are also a Grey Warden, group safety is equally _your_ job.” Leliana’s eyes remained fixed on the land around them.

“Tis unfair for the only two with weapons to unite against us.” Morrigan, ever the buddy of the one who deals Alistair the most damage.

Alistair passed another laugh. “The only ones uniting against others are _you two._ I _tried_ to be nice, I fucking set up _camp_ every night, I fetch your mistress _supper_ every night, _Eddie._ I _definitely_ prefer you as floating ball.”

Morrigan’s warning lights flared up, and Leliana groaned and walked farther away.

“ _Shut up,_ Alistair!” Jamie cried. “This was never about you! This was about _me_ wanting to reach my brother and _you_ being _bitter_ because _ohh poor Alistair doesn’t_ have _a brother! Poor Alistair doesn’t_ have _a family! Nobody loves Alistair!”_

 _Fucking void._ As much as he wanted to hit her, Alistair needed Jamie’s head intact on her shoulders; though he supposed smashing her skull wouldn’t make much difference considering her lack of support. One more sip, then the bottle flew from his hand. Clear liquid splashed in shimmering drops as glass exploded into sparkling shards between Jamie’s feet. Shrieks startled distant ravens to flight, and even Leliana scolded Alistair, but Alistair refused to listen. He veered out of reach, cranking the radio on his Pip-boy till old-time harmonies clouded the brash voices beyond.

 _Was it really so fucking hard for them to forgo mockery?_ Alistair always found it easier to ignore someone if _he_ thought them irritable. _These fucking women..._ it was like they _tried_ to provoke him. They knew his deepest triggers. He shook his head to no one, reaching for another bottle from his bag. _More beer._ He wished this drink was stronger, but the carbonation would help for now.

They had no choice but to approach Solis One together. The soldiers stationed outside aimed swift, two-to-one as far as Alistair could see. Guns in her face made Jamie livid, but demanding status allow them to pass prompted the senior officer to reveal Loghain Mac Tir, who now controlled New Denerim along with the NFR, set a bounty on any surviving Grey Wardens heads; rumor was the _Wardens_ had betrayed Cailan in the fight against the Darkspawn. Alistair and Jamie cried out in disbelief. Without divulging they were the Enclave, Alistair insisted the Wardens would never side with the Darkspawn - _Loghain_ had pulled his troops back, while all other Wardens died in action. The revelation stunned Jamie, and for the first time, she expressed human emotion other than annoyance.

“That’s a _mistake!_ He can’t - he _wouldn’t do_ \- he wouldn’t have me - _no! No! This is all wrong!”_ _Panic_ ; Alistair was genuinely surprised. “Please - you have to let me in! I have to radio him! My _brother!_ He can _fix_ this! _Please! I’m not with him_ -” she pointed to Alistair; _and there it was, all Alistair’s fault again._ “ _Please_ , this is an _accident_! This wasn’t my choice, he _forced_ me! _I didn’t ask for this!”_

Alistair groaned. “Don’t play that card, Jamie.” He made eye-contact with the officer. “She was _conscripted_ , just like I was. No one _chooses_ to be a Warden. And the man who conscripted us died at Ostagar, so this isn’t _my_ fault.”

The officer cut off Jamie from spouting again. “Hey, I don’t make the rules. Personally, I don’t believe Grey Wardens would side with Darkspawn. Our Orders have joined forces too many times for us to doubt you and letting the Darkspawn win benefits no one but the ghouls themselves.” She paused, watching Jamie wring her hands and pace with a puckered brow. “Look, I can’t guarantee your safety out there, but if you help us _here_ , I’ll try to get word out to my buddies along the roads to let you pass.”

It was as Leliana said, the NFR couldn’t access the satellite configuration mainframe within the computer database. Alistair was perfect for the job. The officer promised compensation in coins and spare ammunition from the NFR stocks, and while Alistair toyed with the computers, Jamie could use the radio to contact her brother. Jamie still gasped in panic as their small party stepped through the metal threshold.

Alistair’s conscience got the better of him; it was unnerving to see this impersonal, violent girl in such fear. But before he could ask, Alistair was whisked away by a man in a stained lab coat. Alistair instantly knew where the NFR’s the satellite problems lay: _Bann_ Fantastic, the _idiot in the lab coat_ who continually slicked back greasy hair and stroked a goatee only male hookers wore. He said he specialized in _theoretical physics,_ but when Alistair questioned why the satellites weren’t fixed, _Bann Fantastic_ said the buttons he kept pushing never turned the dishes; this man was _not_ a physicist. 

Alistair cut off the idiot in the lab coat when he mentioned pushing every color button. “Ah-ah-ah! No. _No!_ Are you mad? You don’t just go around _mashing buttons_ in the largest power plant in Ferelden. In _Thedas! Fucking.._.” Alistair groaned and sighed at the same. “How old are you? _Really?_ Did you even go to school? _”_

“Hey, man, I know exactly what I’m doing! I just don’t know what _effect_ it’s going to have.” Bann Fantastic shrugged like pushing random buttons couldn’t possibly lead to an overload and radiation leak.

“You _do_ know that the _effect_ of pushing buttons is the same as _what they do_. Don’t you?”

“Hey, man, do you want a beer? They usually complain when I drink on the job, but _you’re_ here, so I think they’ll forget about _me_ for a while.”

This job was already a disaster. “I - _no_ , just point me to the mainframe.” He took a step away, then spun to grab a beer anyway. “And _yes,_ I’ll take one.” Alistair never made it to the mainframe computers though. Just outside of _Bann Fantastic’s_ office was a member of the Followers of the Apocalypse.

As a rule, Alistair avoided Followers of the Apocalypse. Apostates of old - mages who were never part of the Chantry, or who broke away, before it became the Brotherhood of Steel. The Followers practiced magic though, whereas the Brotherhood forbade the use when exposure to radiation caused even the simplest spells to combust; in response, the Brotherhood recreated the Rite of Tranquility into a virus that quelled the mage gene, ultimately preventing accidents without mages losing the ability to discern. It didn’t matter to Alistair that the Followers honed and practiced healing magic - the thought of magic exploding like war bombs made Alistair uneasy. And while the NFR was callow to the true appearance of Brotherhood of Steel members - _the Order forever a suspect to the world since the Divine disowned them_ \- and Followers _as mages_ alike, the Followers and Brotherhood always recognized each other.

This Follower caught Alistair’s attention not by his presence, but the mention of _Alamarri._ Once a race of humans respected for founding Ferelden, the mention of Alamarri now represented barbarism and an escalating path of disaster due to the tribe’s primitive genetics continuing on through the ages. It was common to blame the nuclear fallout on the Alamarri because of _bad genes_ surviving where they should not. Presently, _Alamarri_ was a legend passed down by a maddened Brotherhood Scribe who’d died of radiation poisoning soon after telling his tale of a _legendary weapon powerful enough to kill like a horde of barbarians - and breach the Veil like an angry one._ The Brotherhood had sought this weapon as long as Alistair could remember, but never found more than a rumor. The Follower did not ask Alistair to enable it, but to keep it hidden - _especially_ from the NFR and their cocky idiot _Bann Fantastic_ so lives now and later weren’t wasted by a weapon meant to find the Maker.

Knowing he may have stumbled upon what could be the legacy of the Brotherhood was enough to reconsider helping the NFR here. The Followers were rarely wrong, always in step with the Brotherhood as far as discovering technology; both sides strove to obtain the most and best tech first. It resurfaced a feeling Alistair hadn’t considered for a long time.

 _He could go home. Alistair could go home and relay the location of the legendary weapon that would allow his people to enter the golden city of the Maker._ The Veil, and the Fade which it protected from this wasteland world, was the only obstacle in the way of the Brotherhood redeeming itself before the Maker - as the Brotherhood archives informed. And if _Alistair_ was the one who made it happen...then maybe he could have a family again, _his_ family would appreciate him.

Using the satellite mainframe to direct power to New Denerim or in emergency-output levels all over Ferelden would disable the _Alamarri_ weapon though. Alistair needed to think about this. He could access more information from the Followers records. That meant heading to their base in _The Freeside_ of Ferelden - the territory of Teagan “The King” Guerrin, neighboring the lands of his brother Eamon Guerrin and his Crimson Caravan Trading Company; Alistair would have ample resources to investigate the _Alamarri_ there. For now, Alistair set _the weapon of redemption_ aside. Jamie needed more help at the moment anyhow; he pictured her waiting for the radio to work itself.

The communications radio was in a small insulated room up a series of industrial stairs. Alistair’s approach was delayed by a hushing soldier; _the radio was live._ Venturing beyond the soldier on tiptoe was difficult on the grated metal catwalk with flimsy pipe railing, but Alistair liked it. Despite concern it might cave under his weight, each step swayed the walk and every time his toes touched down, a vibration shivered the grates around him up to the pipes beneath his hands. It echoed back into his bones; almost as good as music or drumming. But with the other noises of the plant, tiptoeing amplified nothing.

Alistair poked his head around a door-less entry. Jamie sat on a stool in front of an inactive computer switchboard, her back to Alistair, slumped over clutching an amateur radio microphone. A voice Alistair didn’t recognize came through with patches of static so frequent he couldn’t discern the conversation. Jamie made a noise of frustration every time the crackling hiss overpowered the voice she listened for. Alistair retreated just outside the room to give her privacy.

Jamie’s shoulders, her panic in front of the plant, the way her voice now kept calling for the person on the other end to _come back_ … _Was she right?_ Was Alistair inserting his _own_ family experience into _hers?_ Was he mocking her by not understanding the desire to tell her brother she was safe? Fuck, he had no clue. All Alistair saw of her story, partly due to wasteland news, was her brother not caring to help when Highever’s vault was attacked with incendiary grenades by fiends - addict blood mages so desperate for a next dose of stimulants they’d kill anyone, child and important public figures alike. Alistair saw _family_ leaving one of their own to die; at best, to fend for herself with no means to survive. It’s what the Brotherhood would rationalize and choose in the blink of an eye if eliminating a single member benefited the greater good of the Order. It’s what Alistair felt she should do to her absent brother. _Shit. Was_ Alistair as bad as she said?

 _“Teyrn! Please! You can’t do this!”_ Jamie’s voice escalated.

 _Teyrn?_ Alistair’s gut knotted. _She lied to him?_  Not that he should expect better from _her,_  but she had insisted she was contacting her brother. _Teyrn_ was a old-world name from back when homes were all above ground surrounded by green grass and brotherly towns. It was no longer used except between noble families when they spoke in private, excluding a noble’s own family. It was considered disrespectful for a noble to refer to her sibling as the parent’s title  - the title of the house superior. _Jamie lied?_ She _lied,_ and the only existing _Teyrn_ since her father was killed in the Highever massacre was now Loghain Mac Tir, the man mysteriously now in charge of New Denerim. The man who put the bounty out on Alistair - on them both.

Alistair peered around the doorway again. Jamie protested a controlled voice interrupted by more static. Alistair caught words like _what you have to_ and  _must keep appearances_. The voice scolded her for making demands.

 _“Teyrn, please!”_ She spoke like she clenched her jaw. _“How am I supposed to get back? What good was all this if I can’t get us back to The Strip?”_

 _Us?_ The knot in Alistair’s gut dropped. _Us_ as in her and Alistair? She wanted to get _them_ there? When she hated him?

This didn't feel right. Something was wrong, those were _not_ the words of a woman who insisted day after day Alistair fall on his knife, and with Cailan dead there was no support for them on The Strip.

Alistair pulled away once more, covering his Pip-boy to keep if from clanking against the metal door frame. Guitar and whistling erupted from Alistair’s Pip-boy, _“-Each day I love you more. Yes I’ve got heartaches by the number-”_

Alistair cursed out loud as he whipped his attention to the illuminated computer at his wrist. He must have grazed the radio screen when he covered it. _“-a love that I can’t win-”_ the chorus continued.

 _“Wow!_ The _radio_ comes in _great_ here!” a moment of distraction before he silenced his radio. He shut down his Pip-boy in time to see a figure block his view of steel walls.

Orbs like stormy seas narrowed at him. “What you doing? Are you _spying_ on me?”

“What?” it came out as a laugh at irony. “ _I’m_ spying? Are you serious?”

“You’re lurking in the shadows, and you’re fucking clumsy. A _normal_ person would have called out, not eavesdropped around the corner!”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding!” he huffed. “I came up to see if you needed help! You put on this whole _I can’t turn on my Pip-boy_ act - _I_ thought I’d come make sure the soldiers didn’t just leave you up here sitting _clueless_ in front of a radio.” Alistair searched her eyes. “Jamie, _you_ said you were contacting your _brother.”_

“I _knew_ it!” Pushing him was her second favorite hobby. She gave no mind to the wobbling staircase as Alistair braced the door frame. “You're a fucking liar and a spy! Could you be _any more_ of a problem?”

 _“On accident!”_  he told her. “I came to help you, and instead I find you talking to a _Teyrn._ I don’t even...are you _mad?_ The man wants us _dead_ and the only reason we’re _not_ right now is at the discretion of the _one_ person in charge here. And _us -_ _Us?_ Jamie, _please_ tell me you didn’t just plead for your life with mine.”

“You fucking idiot!” Alistair braced with both hands as she pushed him again. “You think _everything_ is about _you!_ None one gives a damn about _you_ , Alistair! You think only _one_ person cares about me? _Normal people have families._ I’m _noble_ , Loghain is like my _uncle!_ He had no idea I’d been conscripted! No one knew anyone from Highever survived! They thought I was _dead!”_ She scoffed, panic back on her face as she staggered out of reach. “He can keep us safe. Loghain can protect us from the bounty - there’s no way he can cancel it through the whole country in time -  but we can go to him, he can help us!”

“What? We can’t _hide_ , Jamie. We’re Grey Wardens, we’re the only ones who can stop the Blight.”

She whirled right into his face. “No, _you’re_ the Grey Warden! I was never meant to _be_ this, with the _constant itching_ and the _buzzing_ and the _voices in my dreams!_ If everything had gone right, I wouldn’t even be here!”

“You’d be _dead_ if you weren’t here,” he reminded her, “remember? Your Vault was destroyed.”

“I fucking know that, Alistair! That's not what I meant! What I mean is I was never supposed to drag myself out! I was never meant to be _taken_ by that _Duncan_ and made to march to Ostagar! My whole family murdered, I was taken against my will, and the _one_ thing I do to make sure my only brother is alive, _you punish me for it!_ You’re accusing me of _sneaking around_ and _trading lives_ for my own skin-”

“Can you blame me? _Really,_ Jamie, can you? You don’t know a baseball bat from a branch, you can’t find a light switch without someone pointing it out-”

 _“I’m not an idiot, Alistair!_ I grew up elite! Just because I can’t fight doesn't mean I’m stupid! I was raised to talk my way out of anything! _You should be grateful I’m trying to help!_ I don’t want to die because of you and your stupid organization! I’m trying to make sure I can get home! That’s more than _you’re_ trying to do! _Drinking and looking for fights -_ I _lost my parents_ , I _can’t_ get ahold of my brother so I try to get the next person I _can_ trust, and _he_ offers to help if we can get to him, but all _you_ can say is _Jamie you’re a wall switch short of a ceiling lamp?_ You don’t care! You plain don’t care that _I_ need my family! _I’m not supposed to be here,_ but instead I’m _stuck_ wandering a country who’ll _hunt_ me _just for being seen with you!_ This is _your job_ but _I’m_ stuck doing it _for_ you, and you _complain_ when I help the only way I can!”

Did he really sound like that? Is _that_ how his words came out? _Was he really so apathetic?_ “It’s not only _my_ job,” Alistair insisted, trying to keep his voice gentle, “Jamie, _you’re a Grey Warden too._ This is on _both_ of us! I never asked you to-”

“I _hate_ you!” she pushed him again, squinting to hold back tears. “ _I fucking hate you!_ You’re cruel and heartless and _you deserve to be taken in on bounty!”_ The grated steps quaked with an echoing racket as Jamie stormed down the walk and out of sight, leaving Alistair to trail behind like a slug under the scrutinizing glare of nosy soldiers.

  
  



	5. Idle Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abusive, uncooperative and now dangerously reckless, Jamie becomes a bigger problem as time goes on. Alistair is on his last leg of patience. Is there any point in hoping for the best?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Possible Trigger Warning*** Harming thoughts; desperate enough for freedom to kill. 
> 
> Mutts = Scotch**
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Fallout New Vegas Theme Song](https://youtu.be/GcgJnbCul-0)  
> [I Gave You All, by Mumford and Sons](https://youtu.be/00dcKqc5H-A)  
> [Hands Clap, by Fitz and the Tantrums](https://youtu.be/Y2V6yjjPbX0)

_This job is shit. At first when Duncan conscripted me, I thought he’d done me a favor. No longer sleeping and waking at a bell programmed by one man, no longer eating only when a higher rank allowed, shirking latrine duty only if my superiors happened to be more irritated with someone else - which was never. Even though I’d seen open land as a child, that first month with Duncan was a relief. Recess, it turned out: when we had traveled too far for me to turn around on my own, things changed. Duncan was not the man he appeared to be in the bunker. An instant change I was not prepared for: awake when he snapped his fingers, asleep only when he couldn’t. Sometimes I stayed up days on end because he did not feel like taking watch. He threw chems in my direction before swallowing a third of vodka and passing out; I suppose I get my drinking habit from him. By then it was too late. I couldn’t simply turn back because I would starve before I neared home._

_There were nights I covered his face with his hat in hopes he’d suffocate. I was desperate for a way out, desperate for the rescue I’d thought him to be._

_And now I’m here. Survivor of the Joining potion. At the mercy of another Tainted person. Unable to escape again, only this time my future depends on my choice to stay and fight. If I want to find the dream I hope is out there, I have to endure Jamie while the burning blood of the Archdemon courses my veins. I want to suffocate her as well. She is as bad as Duncan but at another angle of the spectrum. I don’t know if she really misses her family, but she is lying about something. I just can’t pinpoint what she’s playing at. I’m done with her attitude. I know I’m not a model gentleman, but I’m not as rotten as her. I don’t think I am. Am I? She’s made me question myself more than once; everyone upset with me everywhere I go? Can’t be coincidence._

_Leliana encourages me not to change for a woman for any reason; it’s the most support I’ve had in my life, and while I’m not convinced it's even relevant, it helped some. I think she spoke to Jamie too because there was no argument when I set up my flimsy bed mat near the women's fire - at Leliana’s insistence._

_Jamie. The thought of her makes me want to laugh, but nothing about us as a team is happy. All right, I_ **_know_ ** _I antagonize back, but I can’t help it. I feel like I have to prove myself; not that I should, but if I don’t then she’ll never see how wrong she is about me. Part of me feels like I’m twelve again, desiring approval from the popular girl in class. At the same time, I can’t help retaliating every chance I get, like a reflex to silence - a spot for_ **_my_ ** _voice; I_ **_have_ ** _to take it. I_ **_have_ ** _to show her I can keep up, I can out-wit her and that abominable cyborg. I’m tired of not being heard. Yes, part of me wants her to like me. I’m learning as I go that Grey Wardens_ **_can’t_ ** _rely on each other, but the stories of the Enclave tell of a proud Order full of loyalty, anywhere they’d go they’d always have family with other members. Is it wrong to want that? I mean, how effective can I be as a Grey Warden without trust in my partner? Constant fighting, always one hand away from strangling one another; it’s bloody miserable. AND she keeps taking my drinks! I can’t see the Archdemon backing out of the way in pity with his hands up saying ‘Oh sorry, I didn’t realize you had it so bad, mate. My mistake.’_

_And then there’s our job. Two people who don’t know how to end a Blight don’t make stopping it any less hard than one clueless Warden trying. I tell myself I’ll be better off if Jamie dies so I can do this on my own, but every Enclave member in the past who slayed an Archdemon was never heard from after the fact. Warden recruits are told those heroes retired after their great deed, but I heard the strain in Duncan’s voice. Wardens die when they kill an Archdemon; I feel it in my gut as truth. I don’t know why it’s necessary, but it stops me from shoving a rag to Jamie’s mouth when she falls asleep. If one of us has to die in the end, I would rather it be her than me._

**_Then_ ** _I will be free._

 _She let me keep the radio on tonight. Yes,_ **_let._ ** _Funny enough, she’s not complaining. She’s been playing with various eyeglasses she looted from Solis One. Something is wrong; other than my existence interfering with her life. I think I actually hurt her today. I still think she’s hiding something; no one knows how to work a radio but not a Pip-boy. She hasn’t said a word to me since we left the satellites. Eddie complained the second I turned on the radio but Jamie said nothing, a quick side glance and toss of her head and shoulders so scarce I’d have missed it if the firelight didn’t shift the shadows upon her. She hasn’t touched the food or vodka I set in front of her either._

 _Eddie’s complaining again; my staring is lecherous, I’m a man-pig, “Jamie watch out!” blah blah. I can’t help it though. Jamie’s_ **_too_ ** _quiet. I don’t know what to make of this. It’s unnerving._

_The bottle against my lips is cool. A hint of smoke specific to burnt moss from the Fallow Mire; I think I’ll always favor Mutts. I love the burn, smooth and even, like silk on my tongue, coating my throat. The smell is nostalgic; if I close my eyes when I drink, it’s like I’m at a campfire, even when there’s no flame in sight. Not every campfire holds comfort, but most of them mean a moment to rest my legs, like now._

_I still stare at her. Jamie doesn’t flinch as my fingers tap. Not that I’m trying to make noise. I’m only relieving the need to move; the impact of my nails hitting a hard surface jolts through to my knuckles._

_She freezes. It’s in my own movements that I notice she has none. Slender hands then slide a pair of thick-framed glasses down her nose, push them back up, and repeat the act. Her lashes spread in a great divide. Jamie’s head falls back and a disappearing-reappearing gleam from the corner of her eyes tell me she’s scouring the night sky. Her jaw reaches for the ground and she stills again._

_“There are so many...” the words come like breath._

_I follow her gaze expecting to witness shooting stars though nothing out of the ordinary is about. The stars are the same as any other night. The words are out before I realize I’ve thought them: “You act like you’ve never seen a star before. They’ve been there this whole time.” Sinking disappointment in myself; blurting without thinking - another glorious flaw of mine. Her eyes shift over, then resume her staring contest with the dark sky as if I hadn’t spoken._

_A stray puzzle piece drifting in my head falls into the bigger picture: Jamie needs glasses. She can see the stars now,_ **_actually see them._ **

_“You can see with those?” I stretch my neck for a better view of her face. “This really is the first time you’ve seen stars, isn’t it? How come you didn’t say anything?”_

_“I didn’t know. I didn’t know there were supposed to be more stars...” she seems forgetful she dislikes me. This is a huge step up, I’ll take it while it’s here._

_“Look at me?” I see her eyes dart and her jaw tighten. Right, I’m back to Demanding Alistair again. “_ **_Please_ ** _, will you look at me?” I hate that every single fucking attempt to be normal turns me into a domineering overlord. Fuck, if only..._

_She indulges me. I am not prepared for it._

_She’s lovely like this._

_A pinch runs out from my chest like stretching fingers. I’m staring; shit, I know I am, but I can’t help it. I can’t look away and I don’t know what to say._

_This isn’t right. I shouldn't be..._

_But this isn’t the girl whose only act of affection comes in the split second of her hands on my chest before her weight launches an attempt to force me out of sight. This Jamie is self-conscious. I see it like a cloudless sky: the crinkles at only one eye, her shoulders raised, drawing in by the second to hide her within herself._

_She’s worried I’ll disapprove of glasses on her face._ **_She’s_ ** _worried_ **_I_ ** _won’t like her._

_That’s far from true. She’s beau...I lo...they look great on her. I don’t know if it’s the glasses themselves or this change in her while she’s wearing them. I don’t know how to tell her I like it. The muscles on her neck move, changing the shadows on her skin as she swallows. Even that is beautiful right now._

_It’s new. I want her to stay like this._

_Eddie - Morrigan - makes a noise of disgust. “You must be kidding! Both of you! Jeramie!” only she uses Jaime’s full name. She throws her arms up before folding herself into a metal ball and soaring away._

_Shit. Eddie’s right. This isn’t right. What is WRONG with me?_

_Jamie’s eyes leave the floating Morri-ball and land on me._

_I interrupt her as her mouth opens; I’m almost afraid she’ll ask about what Morrigan said. “You can see now? Everything?”_

_Her gaze travels again, slow and controlled. Absorbing, not deflecting. “I could see before. Just...not like this...I didn’t know it could be clearer...”_

_“They didn’t check your eyes at all on The Strip?”_

_“_ **_Real_ ** _women don’t_ **_wear_ ** _...” she cuts her own words short. This is also new. That seems like a shit aspiration. Maybe I really don’t have a right to think she had it easy before?_

_“Do the others glasses work?” I ask instead._

_“No. I don’t know. I haven’t tried the rest.”_

_“So...” I click my tongue against my teeth. She watches me with an arched brow as I stall my next words by shoving the bottle to my mouth._

_“Alistair, if this is a wise ass remark-”_

_“No! Of course it’s not! What kind of man do you think I am?” I take another drink, filling my mouth more than I should. Jamie’s eyes roll as I draw my sleeve across my dripping beard. “So,” I know I’ll be slapped for this, “I’m handsome now, right? Now that you can see all my cute freckles and my dashing masculine features. Just keep in mind I like my beard to look just so.” Gold, Alistair. Look at her cheeks flush! Why didn't I think to record this?_

_Close to slapped. She scoffs and a handful of eyeglasses fly at me._

_The laugh bubbles up before I realize it’s me. I can’t remember the last time I wanted to laugh; when I thought following Duncan made me a free man? “I suppose I should be thankful it's not a can of beans.” I might as well have summoned it. I almost don’t catch the can before it hits my face. I’m still giggling. What is wrong with me? Did I drink too much? Is this what giddy feels like? I don’t remember laughing when I drank before. This is bizarre._

_Jamie tries to ignore my manly giggles with vodka and I don’t blame her, I know I’m ridiculous right now. Laughter keeps cascading through me, it’s almost hard to breathe. I lean back against rock and take in as much air as I can. Jamie shakes her head as another bout of giggles spill out. Even with the bottle pressed hard to her lips, I swear she’s smirking, and for some reason it makes me laugh more. Then she definitely smiles; I see a dimple._

_The spring in my chest is back._

_Void take me. I remember where I know this feeling from. Not something I’ve felt before, but I read it. An old forbidden-romance fairytale about a prince who fell in love with a tribal mage._

_This is wrong. This isn’t supposed to happen. I don’t want to think about anyone that way. The wasteland is too harsh for...accidents. And especially I don’t want to feel things for someone who’s supposed to die so_ **_I_ ** _can live. I want_ **_peace_ ** _-_ **_that’s_ ** _what I asked for, not to think she’s..._

_“Now that you can see I’m not a monster, you’re going to be nice. Right? You’re not going to hit me anymore?” My throat knots, chest hollows as my heart sinks to my gut. It came out before I had time to stop it. Fucking shit! Why do I do this?? Why does it just come out like that?_

_I suppose I asked for this too, right? Wanting to prevent any accidental future little Alistairs means keeping enemies. Fuck me, isn’t there a civil grey area anywhere?_

_I ruined it. Whatever peace there might have been tomorrow, I ruined it. I see it already. She’s stiffening before my eyes, her back, her arms, a rigid swallow, her jaw and temples bulging. I did it. I killed it. I killed the good moment._

_“Jamie, I’m-”_

_“Just shut up, Alistair. Keep your fucking thoughts to yourself.” She rips the eyeglasses off her face to crash them at her feet. A string of unkind words jumble together until vodka washes them back into her throat._

_-Sorry. The good words stay locked in my head, but not the ones that get me in trouble._

_Fucking moron. That was clear even through the bottle._

_That’s right. That’s me. The fucking moron. My hat and Mutts are my only friends in the world I keep ruining for myself. And my radi-_

_“And turn that fucking thing off!” She raises her arm and another can flies at me. I don’t have time to block this one. I almost laugh this time; I can punch shit to death but the sting of a fucking can makes my eyes water?_

_I have to hold the bottle with my palms because my fingers hurt too much. I can’t see a foot in front of me with these stupid tears in the way. But I know it’s better this way. I’m just not meant for good things; my whole fucking life has been proof. I need to stop pretending the world wants to like me. I’m pretty sure I screwed that up when I was born._

 

 _I don’t even want to talk about the morning. Jamie was foul again, Morrigan strutted on two legs instead easy eyebot gliding to show off a satisfied smirk, Leliana over-insinuated she was available if I wanted to talk. I finished the rest of my bottle of Mutts and drained another as the day wore on. I was tripping over my feet by the time Leliana set night campfire. I wish my metabolism wasn’t so fast, I wish I could stay drunk longer. I almost wish I’d fallen head first in the fire and knocked myself unconscious._ **_That_ ** _is how the day went._

_The old Imperial Highway isn’t a fast route. I wish cars still worked, but after sitting for centuries all they’re good for is explosions - if the fuel tanks haven’t been ripped out already. I check all of them just in case, telling myself all I have to do is lag behind and launch a grenade when Morrigan and Jamie approach a cluster of rusty vehicles._

_But every time I lag far enough behind, she turns. Like she’s checking on me, making sure I’m still with them. And I remember the smile that made me question myself all over again. The thought of destroying even the smallest amount of purity kills me inside. I_ **_want_ ** _to believe there’s more to this Warden I’m supposed to bet my life on. I want it almost as much as the private paradise I dream about._

_Then we run into fiends, and Jamie hides again. Screeching mages high on who knows what, slicing open their arms to lash out spears of blood. Jamie screams when one finds her hiding spot, and screams again when irradiated blood magic ignites from within and splatters the fiend all over her. She excuses herself from the rest of the battle by vomiting right where I’m trying to save us. All I can say is traveling merchants are a blessing; or maybe an act of pity from that Maker Leliana keeps thanking. Dwarven merchants and their mutated cattle always carry water, and they are more than happy to get rid of dirty water they can't purify. We don’t smell the best after all that swampy water, but there’s enough to wash us off if Jamie happens to not-hide from fiends again._

_And then things like nearing the Dalish camp happen, and my lack of faith in Jamie’s ability to save my life is fully restored. I don’t know it’s the Dalish until I hear the airborne wail; the elves are known for their rocket launchers, but I have no way to warn Jamie - anyone who’s been close enough has exploded so no one knows where their borders lie. We aren’t in sight of any gates when they fire at us. A series of echoing pops shoot off, and falsetto whistles turn to dropping whines. My blood races before I even see the missiles. The ground erupts and blast after blast jolts through me harder than I know possible._

_For the first time in my life I_ **_panic._** _Everything moves when it shouldn’t, the ground feels like it’s splitting beneath my feet. Too much, it’s too much movement! I need it to stop! The detonations rattle my bones, it hurts, it’s hot! I’m going to burst! I’m going to die, I fucking know it! The ground flies up around me, I can’t see anything! Dirt and rocks attack like razors and someone’s got my hand, but I can’t see! A crackling heap of metal trips me to my face, and now I’m scared for Morrigan; so warped and torn I almost don’t recognize the eyebot. I’m fucking dragging a hundred-twenty-pound ball out of a barrage of missiles! You’d think that would be enough for the people firing to stop!_

_I don’t know how I make it out. My feet just go, I can’t stop, I’m afraid, I don’t want to know if exploding hurts. The person squeezing circulation from my hand collapses against a rock wall and I tumble down with them. The eyebot rolls down hill in spite of dents and broken antennae. I don’t know how I stop that either._

_I don’t know anything right now. I don’t know how long we sit here. Jamie and Leliana huddle around me, a ball of junk metal locked between my knees. My ears ring so loud I hear nothing but a high-pitched vibrato for...I don’t even know. It wanes the longer I sit, and after a while I hear my own breath, and then the others. Gasping, frantic breath. Panic breath. A hand with a Pip-boy that isn’t mine clutches my jeans and twists, fingers flexing and clenching, digging in as sobs control lungs; Jamie is bleeding and stammering through a flood of tears. Leliana whispers prayers between gasps on the other side of me. I’m not convinced we aren’t dead until Leliana wobbles to her feet._

_We stop for camp downhill on level ground. Hardly an ideal camping ground, but Leliana has a sprained ankle and I can’t carry the eyebot and her. My backpack is torn and everything inside gone, save for smears of Fancy Lad snack cakes and Cram; all my Mutts and beer and Sundown Sarsaparillas, gone. My tool stash, gone. We’ll have to hope what’s in the girls’ bags is enough to gets us to The Freeside. My hands shake so rough it takes me the rest of the day to repair Morrigan; I should be grateful Leliana keeps tweezers and a folding multi-tool. Leliana wraps her twisted ankle and tends to our shrapnel cuts before showing Jamie how to start a fire with a vodka-soaked snack cake, twigs and a flint striker. Morrigan’s not as functional as she could be by sundown, but I have to save the other repairs for morning._

_I think we’re safe here. My ears still ring though, and every time I move I’m reminded of the tremors that almost shook my atoms apart._

_“Fucking elves.” I don’t recognize my voice with all the leftover vibrations. I’m my own fucking seismic quake and not because I’m trying to be still._

_“I’m sorry.”_

_What the fuck was that?_

_Wide eyes and a repeating toss of cherry hair tell me Leliana didn’t say it. Morrigan is still in standby in eyebot form. My eyes fall to the last person I expect to hear those words from._

_“I’m sorry,” Jamie repeats._

_“What?” What the fuck is this new game?_

_“I didn’t know they would bomb us. I just...I wanted to see the elves...”_

_I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I feel it trying to register in my brain, but it’s inconceivable. “What do you mean, you just wanted to see the elves...I-are you saying you_ **_led_ ** _us there?”_

_“I just wanted to see.” Jamie is a broken record._

_“You just...you led us there. You fucking led us into the line of fire?! Jamie, are you fucking mad?” my voice adds to the continuing vibrations rolling through me. “You’re saying you knew exactly where they were? No one knows where the Dalish are. But you do? And you fucking tried to kill us all?”_

_“No!” she shakes her head, eyes and brows crossing like she hadn’t thought of the consequences._

_“They’re called the Boomers for a reason -” I point up the hill, “Everyone knows that! Children know that! I knew that before I ever left my hole in the ground! They hate everyone and they never hesitate to blow up intruders! And you fucking led us right to them! How did you even know where to go?”_

_“But we’re Grey Wardens. They’re not supposed to hurt us! We have treaties!”_

_Fucking loose Vint holes, is she serious? “They’re_ ** _elves_** _. They_ ** _hate humans._** **_You’re a fucking human_** _, Jamie, did you forget? If you don’t have pointy ears, they shoot! They don’t hesitate for questions! Otherwise they’d have died out Ages ago! They hate everyone! Do you realize what happens if I die?_ ** _Do_** _you?” Why am I astonished she doesn’t answer? “Only Grey Wardens can kill Archdemons, and you and I are the only two left in Ferelden. And every Grey Warden who’s ever killed an Archdemon going back to the start of the Enclave - they all died. If you do something stupid like this again and I die,_ ** _you’ll_** _be the one dying with the Archdemon! You put us all in danger! This isn’t a fairytale, Jamie, this is real life! You think racial grudges from centuries ago will suddenly dissipate when you wave your hands and say you’re noble or a Grey Warden? You’re not special! You’re a fucking tool to kill the enemy of a land that doesn’t even care for life! Whatever you wanted before you became a Warden doesn’t matter out here! You’re not a savior princess, you’re a fucking knife to cut out the Archdemon’s heart! No one cares about a fucking tool! You don’t have the right to throw lives around because you want to be special!_ ** _Fucking Void_** _, Jamie!” her name scrapes out from between my teeth in a growl. I can’t tell anymore if I’m shaking from the missile aftershocks or my anger. I can’t believe her. I can’t believe she did something so brash out of stupidity! “I’m not ready to die for you, Jamie!” I’m glad my glare makes her jump, I’m_ ** _relieved_** _to see her realize her actions aren’t acceptable. “I won’t do it! I don’t like you enough, I don’t trust you! I have no reason to die for you!”_

_“I think I’ll go see if I can find some meat, yes?” Leliana’s hands slide up rock as she rises._

_“_ **_Yes!_ ** _” Shit, wrong person. Leliana, not Jamie. “Yes, please, that would be...” I can’t finish without raising my voice. Fucking noble has me too riled. I wait until I can’t hear Leliana’s feet scuffling against dirt. And it honestly surprises me I_ **_want_ ** _to see Jamie breakdown. Not just see her mistakes for what they’re worth, but see her crumble. It’s harder than I imagine to lower my voice, my ribs rattle at holding off. I want to scream at her. But I don’t see that helping me in the long run. “Whatever you thought being noble awarded you before, none of that matters. You aren’t noble anymore. To the world, we’re nothing but mercenaries. You don’t own lives, you don’t own rights. The world may not know you’re Enclave, but you still swore an Enclave oath. You’re still expected to die just like all the other Enclave members in history. Just like Duncan. Death is your only right, you have the right to die to the Darkspawn, and that’s it. You aren’t allowed to drag others into death. And if you lose a leg, I am_ **_not_ ** _carrying you. I...” I don’t know what else to say. The disbelief on her face screams she doesn’t understand gravity. How do you explain jumping off a bridge ends in mush to someone who believes they walk on air? “If you want to chase a dream, you have to end the Blight and survive. Otherwise there_ **_is_ ** _no dream. Why do you think I’m still here with you?”_

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Writing this chapter, I realized I can't actually use Scotch as a Thedas product because it gets its name from being specific to Scotland. However, Ferelden is a perfect equivalent, thus the mossy Fallow Mire is a perfect replacement for Scottish peat moss, which is where Scotch gets its flavor. But in changing the drink, I had to give Ferelden's a nickname (Scots/Scotch): Mutts also fit perfectly; from a similar sound, to every non-Ferelden native complaining of the smell of dog. I have gone back and changed Scotch in the earlier chapters to keep the story consistent.


	6. Easy Fix...Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens arrive at The Freeside, a once vast expansion called the Bannorn now confined to the market district of New Denerim. Trying to escape reality with the local street pick doesn't make things any easier, and Alistair's quest for information on the Alamarri weapon leads him to another unexpected discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING*** Substance Abuse; alcohol, recreational drugs, hangovers. 
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [ Radioactive, by Imagine Dragons](https://youtu.be/ktvTqknDobU)  
> [ Radioactive (cover), by Lindsey Stirling & Pentatonix](https://youtu.be/aE2GCa-_nyU)  
> [ HandClap, by Fitz and the Tantrums](https://youtu.be/Y2V6yjjPbX0)

_The Freeside is almost a joke. A town made of rubble trying to compete with The Strip. There’s not much here, Herren & Wade’s pawnshop where you can buy anything from rusty tin cans to illegal weaponry and fake passports into The Strip - with a little monetary persuasion…er, not that I’ve tried, that’s just the rumor. The Nug Wrangler is the casino you play if you can’t get into The Strip - or if you weren’t lucky but need your next fix anyway; whores, slots and booze to your heart's content as long as you’re prepared to pay with an arm or vertebrae when you’ve run out of coin to pay the Antivan owners back. Squatters around every corner, dirty orphans, sneaky drug dealers - I recommend Dixon, he was really nice -  and more mindless chem addicts in a single place than the brochures let on. A useless NFR branch serves food to anyone as long you don’t have a foreign accent and can name the Ferelden line of succession dating back to Calenhad Theirin blah blah - most natives never know those things, but apparently that makes one unpatriotic. And then the Followers of course, doing their selfless civic duty trying to counteract every instance of hunger and substance abuse wherever they can bribe or hack their way into existing electricity sources. _

_I was nine when I was first here, and then once with Duncan. As a kid, the Scribes who watched over me came for the Silver Rush, once upon a time a casino, now home to the largest dealer of energy weapons in Ferelden - oddly, the Howe children. No, not the youngest son who stayed behind with good ol’ Da and took on the name Omerta, I mean Nathaniel and Delilah, both shoved around by their father and brother and fucking tired of it. Their story is public and self-published: they robbed the family casino, committed murder and robbery until they had enough resources, and set up shop in the Silver Rush casino. A few years later, they emerged with a line of plasma and laser weapons so diverse it made the Brotherhood jealous, and many of those weapons went right back to the Burning Rose to help angry gamblers get out of paying dear old Da back. The encouraged assassination attempts on Daddy Howe - Nero now, but his real name is more strange - and their brother Thomas - calls himself Big Sal; honestly, there were no other names left? - never succeeded, but it’s the thought that counts: Dad’s a dick, let’s pay the shithead back; I admire them, really. Anyhow, the Brotherhood has had their eye on them since they opened shop. Head Paladin Meredith is particularly interested in their weapons for the fact two secluded nobles know how to build plasma grenades..._

_Hm. I should ask Jamie if that’s standard schooling on The Strip._

_Remind me to ask her later, she’s oogling my drinks again. I’ve already been slapped once tonight, I remember a tongue and a bottle and something. Two of those were mine but I’m kind of too fuzzy for specifics right now. Yes, fuzzy, like when your nose goes all tingly because you’ve had so much to drink you exhale fumes._

_Holy dragon tits, what do you bet I breathe fire like this? Where are my lighters? Yes! All of them! Jamie! Oh, ew, really? She’s smoking again, she started that right after her little elf-scapade - get it? Escapade to the elves? - ah, never mind. Jamie, stop that!  Eew, that’s gross._

_Right, yes, energy weapons. I was bait. Little boy, lean and eager to make everyone happy, send him off with bugged letter of correspondence for a mail-order weapons shipment. Little did they know that little boy was a natural born tech genius; they suspected the letter, scoffed and turn it to green goo before my eyes, but not before they let me in and I feigned a black screen on my Pip-boy to hack their cameras; I learned there are some things a child should not spy on. And yes, I still have access to their security system. Part of me wants to go back and see if they remember me but I’m afraid my hair will give me away._

_The reason I say The Freeside is_ **_sort of_ ** _a joke is The Kings. Teagan Guerrin, equivalent to a Bann since nobility and titles seems to be important in my traveling party though no one gives a damn about people living outside The Strip. He calls himself the King, and he spends his days mimicking a single outfit of the first King of Ferelden - Calenhad, my…great-great-great-great…great-granddad…something. In the pictures he wore a kilt and a sash but now the paintings are faded and soiled, so Teagan goes around in a black-and-white striped dress and an ugly matching scarf, and a black tee-shirt to hide his pasty skin. Teagan’s soldiers dress the same way, though none of them remember why Calenhad was even king or why he was famous. They look silly, but they keep the peace between The Freeside companies and they eliminate aggressive junkies. Did I mention they’re all male? Yep, a bunch of grown men running around in striped skirts with guns._

 _I feel_ **_really good_ ** _right now. Really, really good. Have I mentioned I’m drinking? What_ **_did_ ** _I drink? Oohhh wait haahhhh! I forgot about the Turbo! Okay, note to future sober self, void or Maker or something forbid,_ **_do NOT mix Turbo and Mutts._ ** _OH! And Mentats. Damn, but that was good though! Has a nice aftertaste too._

_I am going to feel this when I wake up._

 

_I love my hat. It keeps the sun off my face. It keeps my eyes shaded. It muffles the brightness all around in the fucking daytime. If I ever lose my hat, I’m killing everyone until I find a new one._

_Something prods my foot; a jolt zips through my ankle up my calf, tightening my shin. “Alistair.” Another kick; the buzzing hovers like a sizzle around my bones._

_I reach up for the brim of my hat and yank down, covering my eyes. The noise from my throat rumbles through my neck and collar. Good vibrations to offset the burning in my stomach and the jackhammer in my skull. “Do that again.”_

_Leliana hums, then titters when I shush her. “You’ll have to find someone else to indulge your foot fetishes. Come on, get up. I let you sleep in long enough.”_

_“No.” I pull my coat closed and turn over, but my face smacks against cold stone, shaking the throbbing organ in my head. “Ow.” Fuck. Not the kind of vibrations I like. It’s too early for this. And it’s already too fucking bright, sunshine blares in before I even lift my hat; pushing a button on Pip-boy reports aloud  it’s almost ten. “Fuck ugh.” And my bum is sore? What the fuck did I do last night? Sore stomach, sore bottom, cold concrete…I slept on the ground? On rubble? The fucking sun tries to blind me when I look at Leliana. She’s nothing more than a silhouette from here, but next to me is a dumpster and more rubble and crumbling brick and concrete buildings. “Freeside. Fuck me. I thought that was a nightmare.”_

_Leliana chuckles. “I told you not to mix your poisons.”_

_“You did?” I grab a hand that thrusts in front of my face and let the sniper pull me up. The dumpster wheels squeak when I try to brace myself, racking like a derailing train inside my head. Leliana laughs when I curse the dumpster for being so fucking loud. Otherwise the lack of noise around me feels as empty as the trash bin. “Was I supposed to do something?”_

_“Other than see the Followers you mean?” The redhead hooks her rifle at her back and straightens her beret._

_“Ow! Quiet, please? My head!” I wince; she chuckles again. Mixing Mentats and Mutts does it, I don’t mix them often enough to remember how bad the headaches are though; since I don’t remember what I took last night, I can only assume Mentats is the culprit. The sunshine isn’t helping, what I wouldn’t give for fucking cloud cover, but there hasn’t been rain in Ferelden since the bombs fells. I wonder if the Followers can fix the weather for me? Ugh, the Followers. “Fuck, I forgot about that too. No, I mean did my alarm go off? Was I supposed to do something for someone? It feels like I forgot something. Or misplaced it.” My Pip-boy’s still on, so is my powerfist, I haven’t lost my jacket or my boots. Pants are still on._

_“Misplaced?” She giggles. “Oh, I see. You have misplaced your Warden.”_

_“What?_ **_My_ ** _Warden?” A groan as long as a train rips through my throat when I realize Jamie isn’t here. “Fuck, are you serious? I have to go_ **_save_ ** _her? This early? Please tell me there’s more Mutts left?”_

_“Jamie is with Morrigan.” Leliana hands me a bottle half empty. I almost don’t get the cap unscrewed before it hits my mouth. Fucking sun though, I have to shove my hat back over my eyes just so I can tip the bottle. Mutts is horrible on morning breath, and it doesn’t do a damn thing for my cottonmouth but it runs smooth over my tongue and I expect my headache to fade after a few sips. A sharp sting erupts as it hits my stomach; Leliana asks if I’m all right when I hiss, and I hush her again. Everything is too bright, too loud, too painful. Whatever I took last night was not wise._

_“Where is she? Did she go home?” I ask. A buzz other than alcohol returns to my veins as if I’ve pushed a Summon the Demon button. I groan again. I have all the wrong sort of luck. “I suppose it’s too much to ask for you to get lost, huh?” I call out before Jamie comes into view._

_“I suppose it’s too much to ask for you to drink yourself to death?” her eyes narrow and she tosses her hair._

_“Ah-ah-ah-ah! Not so loud!” I whisper._

_Something hits the empty dumpster, crashing it against the brick wall with a metallic bang and internal echo that ricochets right through my hand before I can let go. Morrigan feigns innocence while I cringe and cover my ears. “Oh, silly me, tis something in the way. I should be more careful where I walk.”_

_“Both of you are fucking evil. Jamie, I can forgive; I suspect you were born this way,” I grumble. “But what’s your excuse, Eddie? Evil doctor mother on the rag when she programmed you? You fucking women drive me crazy. I’m afraid to ask what’s next.”_

_Jamie pulls a pack of cigarettes from her coat pocket and stuffs a filtered hilt between her lips, her eyes locked on me. One of my missing lighters appears from her other pocket to awaken flame and singe the end of the cigarette into glowing cinders. The corner of her mouth curls up when I grimace at smoke in my face._

_I try to match her smirk. “That will blacken your lungs in a month.”_

_“Thanks to people like_ **_you_** _, I’ll die anyway.” She bobbles her head with a sneer, like I’ll forget Grey Wardens ruined her life if she doesn’t remind me every day._

_I shove my finger to my lips, eyes bulging as I hush with force. “SHHH! Not so loud! Besides, that wouldn’t have been for another two hundred years. But at this rate it will be a week. What do you want on your tombstone?”_

_“Fuck you, Alistair”_

_“Oh, that’s not possible right now. I’m really not in the best shape. What did I take last night? Jet? No! Turbo.” I’m grinning now. “Turbo and Mentats, that’s right. Turbo’s fucking great for men, you know that? I don’t know if I can keep it up long enough to piss right now.” I laugh as Jamie grimaces though the strain makes me wince. “I’m glad to see you’re wearing your glasses,” I tease._

_“Why?” She blows another puff of smoke at me. “So I can see how pleased you are when you disgust me with your pervert parts?”_

_“But I haven’t even shown you my pervert parts yet.”_

_Her face scrunches again. “Take whatever you fucking took last night and pass out again. So much more fucking peaceful without you up.”_

_“It is_ **_not_ ** _up, I_ **_told_ ** _you.” Her eyes are like bullets when I hold up my hands. “All right, all right. Fine. And_ **_no,_ ** _I was going to say ‘Jamie you look_ **_lovely_ ** _in your new glasses,’” though I’m retorting, there’s no way I’ll let her know I think she’s bloody cute in them. Cute or not she’s still a bitch._

_“Fuck off.”_

_“Ugh. You’re right._ **_Fuck everything_** _,” I stress my apathy like I’m playing along, rolling my eyes with a slouch of boredom though in every respect I agree. “Give me this.” I reach over and steal the cigarette from her lips, weaving out of her reach before she can stop me._

_“Alistair!”_

_“Glad you remember my name! You’re doing better than I am this morning.” For all the funny faces and brushing away the fumes, in truth I like the taste of cigarettes. I never had them till I traveled with Duncan, and the first few, I hacked up half my lungs I think. I don’t care for another’s smog in my face, but I like the taste and I like the act of smoking. It gives me something to do. Moving my arm up and down, wrapping my lips around something, sucking in, the tingle in my mouth as the cloud of chemicals drowns my tongue and claws down my throat. I remember sitting by the campfire while Duncan slept, and I tried my hardest to blow shapes, rings. Could never do it though. The only problem with smoking is the scarcity of cigarettes; common product, but harder to replenish than alcohol, and alcohol tends to last longer._

_“You’re a fucking hypocrite, you know that?” I turn to find Jamie approaching with another burning cigarette in her lips._

_“Yes, I know. Sexy, isn’t it? Don’t worry, we’ll be at each other’s throats again as soon as we run out.” I watch her eyes follow the short filter to my lips, and as if my chest rising with a toxic cloud is cue for her to inhale, she mimics me. “We could make it. Plenty of vandal aria, blood lotus and elfroot. It’d take awhile, but each night we stop for camp we could smoke them over the fire.” Fuck. She is not listening to a word I say. I have never seen a person so fixated on me before. I take another long drag to study her reaction, just to make sure I’m not imagining anything; no, she is definitely focused on my lips. My bloody fucking lips. I spoke too soon, she really thinks this is sexy, doesn’t she? I already need to quit smoking. “Don’t get attached to anyone’s face out here Jamie.” A full inhale before I flick the burning stick away. “Especially not someone’s mouth. That kind of fascination will leave you high and dry on your own in the wasteland.” I shake my head. With a sigh, I snatch the pack of cigarettes and light another one. Right now I wish this wasn’t an easy fix for my fidgets. “This world doesn’t care how much you like someone’s mouth.”_

_“What the fuck are you talking about?” her brows crease and she squints at me._

_I hold her stare. “Smoking.” I don’t want to focus on attraction, not between us. It’s a stupid move._

_“Elfroot’s a healing plant, you idiot.”_

_“The_ **_roots_ ** _are healing. It’s also addictive. Smoking the leaves is a great way to get a little high. What do you think you’re smoking now?” I push the bottle of Mutts to my  mouth and watch my breath fog the bottle. A tip back brings the hint of smoked weeds along with burnt moss. “Blood lotus, vandal aria, and elfroot,” I repeat, “just the leaves, smoked, dried, crushed, and rolled.”_

_“Okay, fine, whatever. I don’t see how that means I’m fetishizing your mouth.” This is why I think she knows more than she lets on: she hears even when it looks like she’s ignoring._

_“That’s a big word for you, Jamie. What is it you want?” I fucking hate how she twists my words, refusing to answer anything. Reminds me of her secret radio call to Loghain; I haven’t forgotten, and we’re on The Strip’s doorstep right now._

_“I brought you food. But you can’t help being a fucking prick, can you?” she reaches into her bag and pulls out something wrapped in tin foil. She shoves it in my hand before stealing my liquor._

_Puffing on the cigarette in the corner of my mouth, I unwrap the package; I like tin foil too, the scrape sounds annoying, but it leaves a raw sensation in my nails. It’s still warm in my hands. Kebabs. Chunks of meat - looks like gecko - and hot green peppers skewered together and charred, three full kebabs.  My eyebrow raises before I realize how strange this is._

_Jamie’s standing with her weight on one leg, a hand bracing the other elbow so her arm doesn’t have to move far for her mouth to reach the cigarette. Her eyes catch the sunlight reflecting off a concrete building and remind me of a picture I saw of the ocean long ago. The nonchalant pose and expression suggest she’s waiting for gratitude._

_“_ ** _Why?_ ** _Why bring me food? Why are you being nice?” my voice emphasizes my suspicion._

_Jame scoffs like I’ve offended her. “Well…that’s what we’re supposed to do, right? Be nice to each other?”_

_I don’t even mean to laugh but the picture in my head is hilarious. “Leliana put you up to this, didn’t she?” I’m imagining Leliana shooing her, pushing Jamie, silent jerks of pointed fingers with grunts. It’s funny to me._

_“_ ** _You_ ** _keep telling me this!” she tips her head back and almost chokes on moss-smoked whiskey. I grab my drink back before she can spit into it._

 _“I_ **_do_ ** _say that, yes, but until now-”_

_“Just fuck you, Alistair.”_

_“One day you’ll regret propositioning me so much.” I roll my tongue to my teeth and suck for noise when I wink at her. She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, still smoking as I walk away with her cigarettes and my faded purple lighter._

_“Now where are you going?”_

_“Right!_ **_Sorry_** _, Mother, thank you for reminding me I need to tell you everything I do! I’m going to eat by myself and then I have an appointment with -_ **_where_ ** _did you_ **_get_ ** _that?” I tread back when I spy a red and green rocket peeking from her beneath her jacket…it’s not the rocket that has my attention but the handle and trigger. I bat her hand out of the way and take the gun out of reach. “Fucking shit, Jamie, really? This is a toy.” I meet her eyes. “Did you steal this from those kids running around when we first got here? Those homeless orphans?”_

_She scoffed again, finishing her cigarette with a drag that rose her chest. “He fucking aimed it in my face, so I took it! What do you expect me to do? I didn’t know it was a toy at first! It poked my cheek!”_

_“And you couldn’t have said ‘watch where you aim that, kid’?” I groan and walk away again. “Annoying or not, the kid has nothing else to his name. This was a shitty thing for you do.”_

_There’s nothing to catch fire here in the Freeside, no trees, no weeds; not like a fire would ruin the town or anything. Well, there’s a patch of dead wheatgrass but that’s nowhere near me. I don’t look when I flick my cigarette away to eat. Gecko for sure; tough, tangy, a hint of wine just how I like it, and the peppers are amazing touch. Jamie did good. I suppose I should thank her, but she also said Fuck You Alistair a few times before she gave it to me._

_I eat as I walk. Old newspapers melted to the pavement long ago. Ruined buildings acted as town walls, not all damaged but some permanently boarded up; Duncan had theorized the dead were stored in the boarded buildings back when the bombs fell. Quiet in the mornings, at least when I was here last and now. If the town wasn’t such a dump, it might be nice. So far I don’t see the kids, but that doesn’t mean they’re not up. Fucking Jamie, I can’t believe she stole a child’s toy. Something like this would have crushed me as a kid. It’s a sturdy toy too, may even last long enough for these kids to grow up and pass it on to another child. Exquisite for a child’s toy, truth be told. I turn the gun and rip another chunk of meat and pepper off; spicy, but it’s the juices I like, stinging the sides of my tongue and burning my throat. Liquor isn’t the wisest thing to chase hot pepper juice with, but enough at once numbs my insides. Bottle glued to my mouth while I chug, I admire the gun still. Green paint is scuffed, but otherwise in good condition, a rocket with a handle for sure, fin and pointed tip, yellow reflective strips; so much detail on kids’ toys, it’s ridiculous. I’m almost tempted to keep it._

_Squeezing the trigger makes the bulb at the butt light up, and I’m conscious how broad I’m grinning. This is a cool toy. I squeeze it again to read words in the bulb: “Andrastian Energy” wrapped around a tiny map of Thedas faced with an eye dressed in flames - a symbol I haven’t seen since my studies in the bunker; the symbol for an ancient sect of the Chantry called Seekers of Truth that died out not long after the Divine disowned the Chantry, vanishing as Seekers of Knowledge researching ways to undo the nuclear Blight so the Divine and Maker would welcome them back. The word Andrastian comes from the old-world Chantry prophet Andraste, used not because she was a holy person but because she performed amazing feats later regarded as worldwide history; her name is a symbol of hope and metamorphic events, of freedom._

_Andrastian Energy is a legitimate company, the leading source of renewable energy since the nuclear war following the Fourth Blight; the only ones who never used it were competing companies. Nothing about it is a child’s toy company. I turn the gun over, searching for anything else that might tell me what this is. No bullet chamber and nowhere to connect ammunition. I can’t see inside but squeezing the trigger lights the bulb; it’s probable the reflector strips are solar-powered and recharge a battery inside. Without my tools I can’t say for sure what it’s meant for. I turn it over again, and when I move my thumb, I see it. Faded words, smudged with dirt. I have to aim for my fucking eyes just to read it, but it’s there. And my gut knots. Alamarri…Just like the weapon of redemption the Follower said Solis One housed. A toy-sized rocket with a trigger and the names of an energy company and a legendary weapon?_

_Holy fucking Blight, this isn’t a toy, this is detonator! Or a homing device, or -or -_

_Fucking void, and a child played with it?! Oblivion take me! My heart is pounding. Did Jamie even know what she carried? Does anyone else know this is out here? I need to-- I need to go--_

_My feet move before I can organize my head. My mind is racing - if this is what I think it is and the Brotherhood gets a hold of it… How did this go unnoticed? Most of my childhood was spent trudging the wasteland looking for clues for this thing all because some craze irradiated scribe gave the name of a weapon and nothing else. They’re obsessed with finding this!_

_And if it_ **_is_ ** _a targeting device, then…I’m holding the key to a legendary weapon that opens the Veil._ **I** _hold it. Little annoying Alistair who they couldn’t wait to get rid of is holding the key to meeting the Maker face to face. I don’t know if I’m fucking terrified or amused. This weapon isn’t supposed to exist, and I’ve never believed in the Maker; I don’t see how an almighty being who “so loved the world” could let Blights or nuclear war happen and let so much suffering endure. So this weapon means the Veil is real? Which means the Maker is real? Which means the only reason I exist is so this Maker can keep punishing people for a handful of idiots who broke into his house thousands of years ago? I don’t think I want this weapon used._

 _But what if the Elder is right? What if the Maker_ **_exists_ ** _and just doesn’t know we’re down here? What if He doesn’t know we’re suffering? I don’t know if I could throw this weapon out knowing it might be the way to end hardship. What if this is the only way I can find paradise?_

_The doors into the Followers base don’t have time to close behind me before weapons aim and hands ignite._


	7. Collateral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In order for Alistair to access the Followers' data files, he must help them first, and each new contact produces another Freeside citizen who wants help. The needs for coin drives the Wardens to accept, but the effort is straining. Sneaking away from Jamie backfires on Alistair. Attempts at civility fool no one, and Jamie's abuses worsen as authorities deny her. Alistair has had enough...or has he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING** Abuse - physical abuse, choking; angst; substance abuse - alcohol, smoking, mention of drugs.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [ HandClap, by Fitz and the Tantrums](https://youtu.be/Y2V6yjjPbX0)  
> [ Skyfall, by Adele](https://youtu.be/DeumyOzKqgI)
> 
> Cameos, yeah? :)

_So many hands alight. Blue and yellow flames, sparkling frost, sporadic electricity. I am not comfortable with this._

_“Ah.” I raise my arms over my head, the toy-like rocket gun in one hand and the Mutts, kebabs and cigarettes in the other. “So you_ **_do_ ** _practice combat magic.”_

_A mage with hair on end approaches me in a stained white lab coat, one hand flaming the other crackling with purple fog and electricity. “You do not belong here, Paladin-”_

_“What makes you think I wasn’t a Scribe?” I interrupt. How can they_ **_always tell?_ ** _I can_ **_never_ ** _tell which Followers use magic unless they try to kill me._

_“This is a place of healing and salvation! I will not allow your presence to threaten our cause!” the mage proclaims. An orange tabby cat pounces over and weaves between his legs, following the mage’s steps as if the two are attached by a thread._

_“I’m not here to fight, but I have a question first: If you can shoot lightning, why do you leech off electricity plants?” this fucking question has bugged me since I was eight._

_The mage doctor rolls his eyes and quenches his hands, raking his tawny hair into a ponytail; a shiver of electricity suggests he’d shocked himself when I burst through. “Someone get this moron out of here.” He bends to pick up the cat before turning his back to me._

_The unmistakable end of a double-barrel gun presses into the back of my shoulder, and a laugh at irony slips out before I can stop it; face to face with mages, and a gun is what does it. “Chantry minions finally injected nerve. Doubtful you’re just a tormented soul who’s come for aid. The Brotherhood cannot protect you here. Leave or face your crimes.”_

_“Crimes?” I laugh. “What crimes?”_

_“Trespassing.”_

_“So the mages who_ **_don’t_ ** _just practice healing magic like they tell the world leave their only_ **_non-mage_ ** _on trespasser duty?” I try to turn my head but he slides the barrel up my neck._

_The man with the gun grunts. “Your limited perceptions are insulting. I am justice watching over this place. I ensure no wrongs are visited upon these folk, patient and doctor alike. Once more, if you do not leave, I will condemn you Trespasser and shoot.”_

_“Wait, wait! I’m not with the Brotherhood anymore, I was conscripted! I’m a Grey Warden, all right?” I announce. “I’m a Grey Warden, and I need coin to get around the country and gather an army to stop this Archdemon before he destroys more of the land, so I took a job for NFR but I need to research it first before I do anything! It’s at Solis One, you’ve got a man there! Or was this guy lying to trick me into using the Alamarri against the NFR?”_

_This draws attention. I knew it would. The tawny mage doctor spies me over his shoulder, then approaches again. “Justice, it’s fine, thank you.” He strokes the tabby in his arms as the civilian of justice removes his shotgun from my neck._

_“Appreciate it.” I glance over to find a ghoul; not what I was expecting. Intelligible ghouls are supposed to be Grey Wardens, but this ghoul is not Tainted. I don’t feel him like I feel Jamie. “How aren’t you a Grey Warden?” I ask bewildered._

_“Do not test your luck here, Paladin.”_

_“I’m not a Paladin, I’m a Grey Warden!” I insist. “Am I allowed to lower my arms, or is everyone here going to blow my head off?”_

_“You barged in with a weapon yet you claim to be a Warden. I’d always assumed Wardens were neutral,” the mage doctor said._

_“Oh my fucking - it’s a toy!” I cannot tell the Followers this is a targeting device any more than I can tell the Brotherhood. “A little boy was running around with it, my partner thought it was a real gun so she took it, I intend to return it but I need to use your computers and your place was along the way. Here, you can look at it - there’s no chamber, no magazine, no plasma port. It’s a toy rocket shaped like a gun, probably a souvenir.”_

_The doctor sets the cat down like its fragile and steps around it without even looking; distant mewls alert me to other cats, must be a clinic aesthetic. A sun-bleached patch on his coat reads Anders as he inspects the rocket gun; fuck, I hope he doesn’t notice the Alamarri script._

_“Anders, huh?” I try to distract him. His eyes shift from the rocket to me. “When did they open their gates?”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous, they’ve always been closed.” Anders, the nickname for any Anderfels citizen, hands me the rocket and I swear on my life I’m trying not to sigh out loud. “You think our man there tricked you? How?” Anders asks._

_“I don’t know if he did, but the Brotherhood has been looking or the Alamarri for ages. Our Orders can’t be the only ones who know about that weapon. Lucky for both of us, the NFR hires idiots who think button mashing is an easy fix -” Anders winces when I say this “-_ **_Yes_** _, thank you, that’s exactly why I need to research it. If it’s really there at Solis One, what’s stopping the idiot in sunglasses from accidentally activating the Alamarri? If it’s really there, I need to program a failsafe. I need information but I can’t go back to my bunker; I’ve left, they’ll kill me. This is kind of an important matter that needs dealing with.”_

_“I agree about the idiot in sunglasses; I’ve heard of him. But if we give in to everyone who’s marched in here demanding our research, we’d be ineffective healers -”_

_“And had your magic genes ripped out of you?” I offer._

_Anders’ jaw tightens and eyes close, but not before I see them roll at my mention of the tranquility rite. “My day would have been fine without that reminder, thank you.”_

_“You’re quite welcome.” I admit I take pleasure in irritating these mages. “So, computers? Records?”_

_“Not a chance. You’re still Brotherhood and you’re after information your Order would exterminate us for.”_

_“I’m a Grey Warden and being_ **_here_ ** _gives the Brotherhood another reason to brand me a traitor and kill me. What more do you need to prove I’m pumping irradiated Taint? A blood sample?” I begin unclasping my Pip-boy._

_“We’re not taking donations today, but thank you,” Anders quips._

_I feel like I’ve been cheated - that’s something_ **_I’d_ ** _say! Cheeky fucking mages. “All right, fine.” I turn around and step to the heavy doors. “I’ll go back and tell the idiot in sunglasses he’s doing a **great** job.” I spin again and lean into the doors, pushing with my back. Anders picks up the orange tabby again before matching my glare. With my hoard locked in my arms, I raise my fists to flick my fingers open like a mushroom cloud, puffing my cheeks and mouthing BOOM for emphasis. _

_Anders rolls his eyes as the guard of justice groans to my right. “He must be stopped, mage.”_

_“All right, look, wait,” Anders says, pinching the root of his nose. I stop pressing against the bulky gate door. “I can't believe I’m saying this, but we could use help too. If you help us, I’ll give you access to our computers.”_

_A rumble climbs up my throat. “Of course. Everybody wants something. And I suppose you’ll ask me to run around doing laborious things?” I drawl. “Maybe put myself in danger so you don’t have to risk your neck, when all_ **_I_ ** _want is permission to sit at your computer.”_

 _“Paladins_ **_are_ ** _smarter than they look.” Anders’ smile hints he’s been waiting ages to say that to a Brotherhood Paladin._

_“Fuck me,” I mutter._

_“A tempting offer; nice thighs by the way. But I’m on duty right now.”_

_This is one of those times I wish looks could maim. “What is the bargain, oh flawless Follower.”_

_“There’s no need to kiss up, I said you can see it.” Anders ignores my sigh. Fucking cocky mages testing me because of my fucking time in a bunker. “Here’s the deal,” he continues. It’s not even something_ **_he_ ** _needs help with, it’s something he wants done: Round up the town drug addicts and find a constant source of supplies to help the Followers nurse the unfortunate townsfolk. Oh wait, I almost forgot - that’s a personal insult to the Followers though, addicts and wounded they’ve never met going uncared for while never taking time to seek needy people on their own. Anders reminds me I’ll do my Order a favor by helping the Followers clean up The Freeside as a Grey Warden._

_Pick up that stranger’s trash, Grey Warden, it’s ruining the aesthetics; that’s what this feels like. If the wall wasn’t concrete brick, I’d bang my head on it._

_If the probability of the Alamarri working like legends claim was solid enough, I would decline this shit job in a heartbeat. Fuck fuck fucking oblivion for dreams that drive a man to low places for answers. I need to find out if it’s worth it. Is the Alamarri is worth using? And I need to know my dream paradise isn’t a baseless fantasy. I_ **_want_ ** _reason to live._

_I tie the rocket gun to my belt and after making sure my kebabs are still intact, I light another cigarette. Maybe these jobs aren’t so annoying though, I can send the women off together and do half alone. Seems more like good luck when I think of it this way._

_The women haven’t moved from the alley I woke up in although they migrated closer to the street. Jamie’s eyes narrow in scorn and complaint as she gestures to the smoldering cigarette in my fingers. I don’t let her talk though. “We’ve got jobs. We should do them while we’re here, I don’t want to come back later. I’ll do half by myself, and you three can…” I wave my fingers at the females, not sure what I’m allowed to say that won’t get me punched. “…go do_ **_woman_ ** _things.”_

_“Woman things?” Leliana echoes while Morrigan scoffs and frowns._

_“I do not do woman things,” Morrigan asserts._

_“Well, maybe you should. Jamie needs all the help she can get.” I try not to smile as dark denim eyes narrow and distort._

_“Fuck you, Alistair!” Jamie spits._

_I sigh. “Fine. Pick a dumpster, let’s just get this over with. I’m tired of you asking every day.” I think it only hits her when I shrug my jacket off my shoulders. Leliana scolds me with a smirk. Jamie huffs and hisses a rude word, and I evade her push for once. “Jamie, I really don’t care if you want to fuck me, but we need coin so hurry up, yes or no, I don’t want to stand here all day.”_

_“And what if I say yes?” Jamie turns my own tide on me._

_My face pinches in disgust. “Oh, please don’t. It’s too early for threats,” I shake my head, closing my jacket around me. “All right, you women go find addicts, and I’ll be doing something else. Without you.” I pull my hat down and spin away with the bottle of Mutts to my lips. “Back here for lunch? Or will you ladies want to congregate somewhere classier by then?” I wave my hand as I walk away._

_My kebabs are cold now, but bites between drags on the cigarette and mouthfuls of Mutts replace heat with new flavor. I like the change, always welcome change, but my food is the extent of it right now. The shitty town is just now waking up, in the exact state it was my last time here. Groans and grunts and hungover slurs echo from corners and alleyways. The locals who sleep on the streets are so dazed from starvation or drugs they don’t notice the sound of my boots clapping and grinding against cement.  It’s like a spell of ignorance sustains the town. Maybe they do it of their own will; I can’t say I blame them._

_A hum that signifies Jamie’s Taint swells inside me. Not a hum that resonates vibrations, but a sound I can hear as if every inch of me has ears. It feels as awkward as Duncan’s did, like when someone stares at you and never looks away. In that sense, I feel and hear Jamie’s Taint around me. I don’t need to turn my head to know she falls in step beside me._

_“What are you doing? I thought I told you to go with Leliana and Eddie?”_

_“Leliana told me to come here.” Right next to me, her Taint pulses, gives me the impression she’s trying to force me away with her mind but isn’t strong enough. I think the radiation in our Taint causes that sensation._

_“Ah, Leliana’s in charge now? Good thing she knows how to do Grey Warden stuff.” I take another drink, then rip meat off the stick.  Fatty, gamy, the color of pork but texture like fish; another rarity in Thedas, the Brotherhood keeps a stash of fish hidden from the world. My time as a Grey Warden proves I’m one of the few left who’ve seen fish._

_“You think I like this any better than you?”_

_“Sometimes. You keep offering to fuck me.”_

_A noise of disgust melts into a growl. “She said she can’t keep her gun on more than one target at once, it’s better if we split up and those with weapons each take someone without.”_

_My turn to scoff in disapproval. “Ugh. Logic. I hate it.” I wash the gecko meat from my teeth with another swig of Mutts. “Why can’t Eddie protect you? She electrocutes people when she turns into a ball.”_

_“Morrigan. Her name is Morrigan, you twit.”_

_“Her ball has ED-E printed in large letters on the side._ **_Eddie_** _,” I counter._

_“She can’t be an eyebot here, you idiot, we’ll draw too much attention!”_

_“We’re new faces in town, we’re fully clothed - except for Eddie - and we’re not overdosing in the alleys. We already stand out. Go away. Please. I mean it.”_

_“No.” Fucking noble bitch._

_“Are you really going to walk next me all day just to be stubborn? That’s the most stupid thing I’ve heard, Jamie. That doesn’t even make sense. And considering what happens when I let you tag along, I’m better off doing this part myself.”_

_“I don’t want to die here!” she protests._

_“You won’t die in The Freeside, Jamie,” my voice drops to reflect my annoyance. I can’t believe she can be so naive. No, wait, yes I can. “The Kings always patrol, and the Followers base is back there,” I gesture with my thumb. “If you aren’t dead on arrival, you’ll be hauled off to the mages.”_

_“Oh, that’s just fucking great.”_

_“You know what? Shut up. If you really, absolutely have to come with me, then shut up so this is as painless as possible. I have to visit the pawnshop, just…shut up and let me talk.”_

_Not two seconds pass: “What’s at the pawnshop?” James jumps when I snap my head at her. “Fucking void, Alistair,_ **_shit_** _. One fucking morning trying to be_ **_friendly_ ** _and shit, and this is all it fucking gets me!” she rants._

 _“That’s the_ **_opposite_ ** _of Shut Up, Jamie.” It’s like my jaw is always locked when she’s around. Which is all the fucking time. I glare so hard I see my eyebrows above my eyes. “I was_ **_trying_ ** _to get a fucking break away from you. I don’t get a break other days,” I tell her, twisting both doorknobs beneath a sparking neon sign; half the letters had lost their light just like last time I was here._

_“What’s so fucking hard with saying ‘hey, I’m taking the morning to myself’?” Jamie slams the other door open, yanking my arm along with it._

_“I_ **_did!_ ** _I said I was going off by myself!”_

 _“Oh look, Herren, customers,” a voice reeking unconcern greets us. Wade, a middle-aged man living in a junkyard country that will never acknowledge his aptitude for genius; I’m an_ **_artist,_ ** _Herren!, I once heard him wail. He sighs and sinks into a slouch, chin resting on his hand, elbow propped on crossed legs. A shimmery scarf tops a pressed pre-war shirt; I don’t miss the stain he’s trying to hide._

_“You’re closer, you deal with them.” Herren was just as bored from the back of the shop, short hollowed metal, rivets, and springs clacking and echoing under his voice; he’s cleaning guns. Last time I was here, Herren tried to trade a grenade launcher for a .9mm pistol Duncan called Fiona - Duncan’s lucky gun. Duncan said Herren would be closer to Fiona than he ever thought possible if he didn’t stop asking._

_“It’s that cheeky Warden boy again,” Wade calls out._

_“So deal with him!” Herren clanked a heavy gun down._

_“But he’s got a_ **_girl_ ** _with him this time. Ugh. Please don’t ask for rings, we don’t sell jewelry. You’ll have to rob a casino for that,” Wade waves us away, eyes bouncing to me and Jamie before squinting in a yawn._

_“Perfect. Fantastic to see you again too. We’re not here for jewelry-”_

_“You’re not?” Wade’s face fell. “What about a sculpture? Paint job for your Pip-boy then? I could pimp it for you. Pimp-boy? Get it?”_

_“Er…no…” I don’t know what else to say._

_“No? Nothing at all? Fake passport then!”_

_Herren groans. “Wade, not again! Most customers want guns and food, not curtains! And since they’re Grey Wardens, they won’t need a passport to get into The Strip.”_

_“Herren, stop it! Are you trying to ruin my last motivation for life?”_

_“No, wait!” I interject. “I’m here for the Followers. They need a steady supply of raw material. Please say you can do this?” I feel like I’m begging. The thought of being back in front of tech - the Followers’ computer - is almost a dream, and the thought of wasting time like this with Jamie isn’t helping my nerves._

_“Alistair, stop tapping.” Tyrannizing me is like an autopilot tactic for Jamie now._

_“The bottle’s never complained once. Go back to Eddie,” I mutter. “And I could use hard liquor if you have it,” I tell to the shopkeepers._

_“See, Wade? They want supplies, not an interior decorating,” Herren calls over._

_Wade sighs with a dramatic shrug. I can’t believe grown men pout this much. “Oh,” he whines, “In a better world with better materials, I could be making armor - marvelous armor! - for royalty. Armor fit for a king! A_ **_real_ ** _king, Herren, don’t even bring up that frivolous gang and their hideous stripes!_ **_Stripes,_ ** _Herren! My delicate heart can’t take it!” Wade shivers with a grimace; Herren rolls his eyes in the distance. I don’t like this. This grates my sanity. Trying to wait like I’m not itching to skip around the room to touch things is hard enough, but listening to this is almost torture. Wade goes on: “Instead I’m stuck in this wasteland garbage heap, forced to waste my talents on mediocre things! Toaster repair! Negotiations! Now supplies? Raw supplies? No one appreciates my true skill!” he wails. My nails dig into the paper label on my Mutts bottle; I don’t mean to tap my last kebab against the bottle._

_“What ski-” I kick Jamie’s foot to interrupt her sentence. “Ow! Alistair! What the fuck!” she shoves me with one arm, frowning._

_“Don’t ask,” I say from the corner of my mouth. Please don’t encourage them, please oh please! I wish she can read my mind right now; and then no longer._

_“What? Stop being a dick.” She turned back to Wade. “What’s your skill then?”  She mutters another word paired with Fuck when I yank my hat down to hide my eye roll._

_“The art of replication!” Wade announces like he’s showing off craftsmanship worthy of the old Chantry prophet._

_“That’s great, really.” I clear my throat. “Okay, if you don’t have any supplies, do you have any jobs? We need caps.” I hate using the word caps. Once upon a time, coin was the common term for currency; pence, silvers, sovereigns, all different values. Coin is still used today, but the most intact coin factory died out a century ago after a mass production of coin left the discs warped and resembling bottle caps. While intellectuals in the wasteland still honor different color coin value, caps in general value the same anymore. I prefer the term coin, it sounds legitimate and regal - like I’m not drowning in bad luck; but the world understands caps._

_“You’ll have to go somewhere else. The Nug Wrangler is bound to have something,” Herren voices dispassion from the workbench._

_“Herren, stop it! You’ll bore our customers away,” Wade complains._

_Oh fuck fucking fuck holes! I can’t take much more of this. I’m conscious my fingernails pick up speed on the bottle. Jamie hisses to stop when my foot starts tapping. I can’t do this, can’t stand in one spot and wait while grown men whine._

_“Oh give it up, Wade!” I see the man in back lay a service rifle on the bench. “What Wade is trying to ignore is that we’re rusty these days. Our shipments from the Omertas-” Jamie perks up beside me “-have stopped, so there’s no need for runners or liaisons. We plain don’t have jobs to offer. If you’re willing to spend caps, then talk to me.” A loud clunk finalizes his sentence._

_“Oh, Herren!” Wade's face drops into his hands._

_“Are these men…?” Jamie leans toward me in a whisper, bringing her index fingers together._

_“Desperate? Miserable?” I whisper back, though I know she’s asking if they’re romantic partners. I nod when she meets my eyes. “Yes. I think so.”_

_She bobs her head with a sneer before rolling her eyes and shaking her head; that’s right, Alistair’s ridiculous. “Why would we need passports to get into The Strip?” Jamie asks, turning her attention to Wade and Herren to ignore me. I don’t let her off that easy._

_“_ ** _Everyone_ ** _needs passports to get on The Strip,” I answer. “A passport or two thousand caps. It’s to confirm visitors can support themselves and aren’t there to beg,_ **_thus_ ** _ruining the aesthetics._ **_Your_ ** _aesthetics, in fact.”_

 _“Well,_ **_I_ ** _never had a passport!” she frowns and diverts to Wade as if I’m lying. Only the passport news bothers her. She seems to agree the aesthetics of The Strip were for her._

 _“Probably because you were_ **_born_ ** _on The Strip.” I stretch my lips to match my tone. Jamie scoffs and mutters another bad word. Her presence isn’t helping. The pack of cigarettes is open in one hand before I know it. “_ **_I know_** _, fuck me, Alistair,” I say for her. I turn to Wade before Jamie can retort: “Okay, the Nug Wrangler, got it. Sorry to burst in and ruin your busy day,” I say as I reach behind me for a doorknob. “Oh! But first, do you have any alcohol?” We only have thirty-six coins but I’ll gladly spend half for a new bottle of Mutts. Or more cigarettes. Or Psycho or Mentats; I’m not picky, any fix will do._

_“See, Wade? All that effort and they only want to get drunk!” Herren hollered._

_“Actually, how much for a passport? I need to get back,” Jamie steps forward._

_Wade whips his head over. “Ho ho Herren!” Herren groans out a whine and drops his head to the workbench. “Finally! A chance to use my talents! Oh Herren, can you smell it?”_

_“I don’t want to smell it,” Herren moans. The part of me that never got to be a kid can’t help associating this with farts; I know Jamie thinks the same because she’s scarlet at my laughter._

_“Oh_ **_stop_ ** _it!_ **_All_ ** _of you! That smell is_ **_art_** _! Beauty and perfection! Symmetry, and a matte finish!” Wade declares. He jumps to his feet and grabs a camera. “Fire up the printer, Herren! Over here against the wall, good lady - today, I shall make you a star you can fit in your pocket!” Already triumphant, it seems._

_Herren leans over as Jamie walks the direction Wade points. “Don’t forget to tell them that will be five-hundred caps, Wade!” he calls cool and composed, as he if he can tell by sight how little coin we have._

_“What?” Jamie demands._

_I groan and grab the back of Jamie’s coat. “Right, a passport’s unnecessary, but thanks!” and I pull the Tainted woman outside with me. Before the door closes, I hear Wade bicker Herren can’t stamp out his artistry by refusing to let him work._

_“Don’t do that again!” My hands shake so much I almost break a cigarette trying to light it. Jamie stares. “Don’t rope us into shit like that again. Do you understand me?”_

_“I didn’t know they charged so much!”_

_“I’m not just talking about that. Fucking void!” The first drag is so quick it burns my throat, but it fucking feels good. A rush of heat, raw, buzzing amplification. "In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t do well stationary-”_

_“Why not? Why do you shake and tap so much?” she’s fucking nosy right now. She’s never cared about this._

_“I don’t fucking know!” Another hard inhale, then a swallow of Mutts stings my mouth. “You’re also lucky they’re bored and depressed. Most people take that as a final sales transaction. If he had taken the picture and started his whatever-machine, he could’ve shot us for not being able to pay! Everywhere is like that. The people at The Nug Wrangler? It all depends on whether they feel generous that day. And it happens on The Strip at the Burning Rose.”_

_“They wouldn’t shoot us,” she sounds like she’s trying to convince herself._

_I glare at her. “Like the elves won’t try to kill us?” I remind her of her huge mistake._

_“I didn’t know!” she insists._

_“Then don’t try. If you don’t know, then don’t talk and don’t try. I’m not going to fucking-” I sigh before another puff. My fingernails still scrape at the paper glued to the bottle. “Just stop talking before you get us killed. Don’t talk, don’t make eye-contact. Just shut up.”_

_I head straight for The Nug Wrangler, not calming as fast as I want to. I fucking hate Jamie for putting me into these positions. And this sudden ‘Oh Alistair let’s be pals’  act is insulting, I don’t buy it for a second. When we pass the threshold into the other side of town, Jamie freezes. I whirl on her, ready to scold her for whatever new stupid thing she’s done, maybe talk to the Nug Wrangler whore dancing on the corner or the Silver Rush crier._

_Jamie’s staring. I follow her glare and I’m reminded how close we are to The Strip. There’s a security gate four blocks ahead of us, and just beyond that is the royal casino the Lucky 38 and The Burning Rose.  The following gate, hidden from sight by the first, opens to Jamie’s home The Tops casino. All three right here, so close we might as well be standing in their yards. My thoughts wander to Loghain when I see the ancient-arena-shaped Ultra-Luxe glistening in the morning sun. I remember the plea to take us straight to the man who wants us dead._

_I want to tell Jamie no fucking way. But she almost looks sad, conflicted maybe. I suspect whatever she heard from Loghain before I startled her at Solis One was not what she expected, coupled with the bounty on our heads I assume._

_Shit. I hate sympathizing this girl. It doesn’t matter how cute she is in glasses, she’s lying about something and she reckless, she’s selfish and dangerous, and I’m fucking sick of her name-calling and pushing. I hate having to look after her, I almost can’t look after myself! I hate everything she does._

_But in front of me now she looks lost. She’s afraid to go home. She thinks she’ll be rejected or killed for going home, she blames the rest of her noble ‘relatives’ for not saving her when the Highever vault burned. I see this in her because it’s how I feel when I think of trying to go back to the Brotherhood bunker, the only home I ever knew._

_Fuck, shit, obliteration, anything- I do_ **_not_ ** _want feelings for this girl. I don’t want to feel sorry for her, I don’t want to_ **_want_ ** _to comfort her, I don’t want to see her as anything more than useless co-worker. I don’t want a reason to trade my life for hers in the end._

 _Lingering isn’t helping either way. I light another cigarette and hold it out. Jamie’s gaze travel to mine after she takes the burning stick. “Have you met The King?” I ask. I tear my eyes away; she knows I’m trying to distract her, make her feel better, I can see it on her face, and the fact she knows makes me uncomfortable. I’ve read about it, unspoken thoughts understood only between lovers, no words needed to console when presence cures heartaches. I don’t want that kind of intimacy; I don’t want_ **_any_ ** _intimacy._

_“No,” she mutters. She turns her feet while she smokes, like scraping and smashing of hard rubber on broken asphalt is important and interesting._

_It doesn’t take much to convince her to join me. The Kings are a friendly bunch and the bar in their lobby sells cheap whiskey and Nuka-Cola - the famous irradiated wasteland soda pop - and they have clean bathrooms. I’m let in without question because I visited with Duncan months ago; The King is a big fan of the Grey Wardens. Jamie’s allowed at the mention of her name, and now she’s Miss Chairman; I expect her to use that against me in the future. The King - Teagan Guerrin - wants to speak to her alone when Jamie asks him to help with the bounty. I offer to leave Jamie here where she's safe so I can finish my jobs, and for once Jamie agrees, she's willing to stay so she can talk to this King. Part of me kicks my own ass as I walk away without my fellow Warden, it feels like I'm pulling a tripwire tighter the further I go._

_It's a thrill as well. I have not had guaranteed time apart from Jamie since we woke up at Eddie's - Morrigan's - house with that old doctor hag Flemeth who talks too much. It's liberating to walk down the street and drink and tap and sing to my radio without expecting violence. I wonder how long it will last though._

_The Nug Wrangler is my favorite bar. A smaller casino, fewer rooms than anything on The Strip, but it has a stage and tables, and no one bothered me last time I came to drink. The owners are Antivan, the Crow brothers, business-minded bartenders who make their own hard alcohol and ruthless when it comes to debt collection. Clever men who recognize a good investment when it walks through the door; they refused to budge when Mr. House’s security bots cleared the area. The Kings may protect the town, but the Nug Wrangler keeps it running. Master Ignacio, the elder brother and head of the house, is less personable but perfect at solidifying loans, doesn’t waste a copper coin, and is not afraid to threaten - or kill - for debts unpaid. Cesar is the curious brother who loves people, bartering everything that can be negotiated from how many casino chips guests can bet at once (to maximize profits yet leave guests affording drink), to how high your pant cuffs sit above your shoes, to the sales-production costs ratio selling his liquor. If you aren’t impressed with their acute perceptions, their Antivan accents will have your panties around your ankles before you remember you’re wearing any; again, that’s just a rumor._

_Cesar is thrilled to fulfill the Followers order for steady supplies; the Nug Wrangler needs tech support to increase the purity of their alcohol to get their customers drunker quicker. Cesar tells me to sway the Followers with the reasoning: raw materials to sterilize and numb, for only a one-time tech adjustment of the Wrangler’s stills, and since the Wrangler’s customers will get drunk quicker less alcohol will be sold. But, he adds, don’t say drunker customers spend more money gambling; I understand why: compensate for alcohol sales loss with coin influx driven by potent shots between games to provide the illusion time does not exist. It’s like Cesar’s been planning this trade. This man never fails to impress me._

_I don’t expect the Followers to offer much in the way of pay, and the brothers see this on my face when I verify their end of the deal. Master Ignacio says I can make an easy hundred caps collecting six hundred more from locals in debt. When I barter for half the caps since I’ll be the one running around, Cesar perks up with jobs of his own. The casino has a few customers with select fetishes, and he can use a hand hunting down and persuading specialists to work for them. Three specialists, one hundred caps each. This will let me - us; I almost forgot about my little party for a second - walk out of The Freeside with six hundred caps. It’s not ideal, but it’s a low enough amount to conceal while we travel and will sustain us for food and weapon repairs between towns._

_The silent glare of Jamie’s Taint invades my personal space as Cesar briefs me on candidates. A glance to the other Warden reveals a frown, tense muscles and bulging veins. Before I can ask how the men in skirts upset Jamie, Cesar mentions a Sex Bot. The Antivan’s eyes widen with wonder when I echo the words and match his enthusiasm, then he shakes his head and feigns disgust._

_“What kind of sickos want to fuck a robot, am I right?” he laughs like he’s hiding a fetish of his own._

_The idea intrigues me. If I had my private paradise, I think I might prefer a Sex Bot to a person. No chance for more accidental Alistairs, and I could program it however I want. I’d only read about them before, but they were rare back when Maric first came into reign as Mr. House. I hadn’t heard of them existing since until now. There’s no way I’ll tell anyone I prefer robots to people though, for certain not with Morrigan around._

_Jamie orders a triple shot of vodka from Master Ignacio while I accept Cesar’s job. Jamie’s snarling again, even after Ignacio throws in a shot of absinthe for free; I have the feeling he also suspects an incoming storm from her. I escort Jamie outside when she orders more shots; I don’t want to carry her out of here in an hour, and with her attitude now I can only expect a night full of abuse if she finds out I touched her._

_For all the grumbling on her face, Jamie walks with me in silence. When we’ve crossed back over to the other side of town, out of sight from any Kings members, I ask her what Teagan talked about. In a blink, any hope for a decent trip back to Solis One blows up in my face: “How dare you leave me there Alistair! It’s all your fault! This never would have happened if you’d just stayed there! You think he fucking listens to me? No one fucking listens! Every fucking time I try to help, I’m the bad guy! You refuse to let me get a passport so I can get back home, you refuse to let Loghain help us! You made me look bad! The big bad Grey Warden doesn’t trust me to not to get him killed and now my word means fucking shit!” Hands, fists, so close while she’s wheeling off I feel her breath on my face._

_I fucking hate when she’s like this, just another fucking reminder why I never liked her from the start. I don’t fight back this time though, to be honest I’m worried I left her at the mercy of a bunch of men who haven’t seen a woman so clean in who knows how long. This isn’t the first time I’ve screwed up so bad. I’m upset with myself, and so I let her take it out. If what I suspect is true, I deserve it._

_I lose it when she shoves into a wall and slams my let arm against brick, shattering the bottle in my hand and grinding my Pip-boy. It’s over, it’s done,_ **_I’m_ ** _done. I grab her wrist and flip her, shoving her into the same wall, only I’m taller and stronger so she dangles inches off the ground with my hand at her neck. She coughs and accuses me of hurting her, but my hand isn’t tight enough and I’m bracing her jaw not her throat, and she is still talking. Unvented fury surges my blood and I can’t tell whose Taint seethes louder. It burns inside, my head, my pulse, my gut is a tangled mess, every part of me ready for attack again. My throat rumbles but the growl doesn’t sound like my voice. Jamie’s eyebrows pull tight and her eyes are large, pupils blown wide as they dart between mine. Sneering, jaw tightening against my fingers. She smells different this close, her breath is different, sweet almost. It strikes something inside I’m not comfortable with, something that tries to push me closer to her. An urge to dig my teeth into her skin throws me off, an urge to_ **_bite_** _, lay my tongue flat,_ **_taste_** _; what the fuck is this? Airborne drugs? Magic even? Some fucking trick of Morrigan’s? Blocking a swing exposes blood and two chips of glass in my palm. Jamie gasps again as I replace my hand with my arm so I can yank the shards out. She’s got me so fucking worked up it doesn’t even hurt; I feel the glass move but there is no pain. Broken bottle thrown aside, Jamie’s choking seems genuine. She falls on weak legs with a deep wheeze when I release her. Accusing me of trying to kill her while she rubs her neck is proof I didn’t hurt her enough. I thrust my hand in front of her face and she jumps back into the wall, hitting her head with a wince. She hisses_ **_I_ ** _have fucking problems, so I squish my bleeding palm against her nose; she presses further into the wall, cringing in disgust._

 _“Don’t do this again. I stick around for **one reason:** to make sure you die with the Archdemon instead of me. As long as I’m with you, you have the chance to change my mind, but this is a shitty example why you deserve to live in place of me. If I leave, you’ll die. Period. Touch me again and the last you’ll see of me is my backside, and with all the fiends and deathclaws and giant bugs, you’ll _ **_pray_ ** _for the Archdemon.” I don’t wait for the look on her face to change. I climb and jump over rubble, anything to put distance between us. I hope she fucking gets it, I hope it fucking sinks in and she begs me to stay. I want the sight of me walking away from her to give her fucking nightmares and frighten her into submission. I want fright to reprogram her fucking soul, or install one._

_My hand stings when I turn the doorknob to the old robotics factory Cesar suggested I search. My eyes land on a first aid kit on the wall but before I can take care of myself, I have to fucking take care of Jamie again: nugrats thump and dig at the floor in every room. Nugs in pre-war books were cute hairless bunny-pigs, but since radiation spread through the land they’ve been vicious, sharp-toothed scavengers, scabbed from scratching hair that wasn’t meant to grow on a nug. Though they moved like rats, they have a dangerous kick that launches them right on your torso where teeth and talons have access to your neck and face. Their main fault is limited line of sight. The trick is ambush and disorientation by stomping the head so you can finish them off. My powerfist comes in handy for the times I screw up an ambush or when I’m outnumbered and my partner doesn’t help, like now. Jamie stands at the door as if she’s doing me a favor by letting me have them all. Thank the fucking void there aren’t many and they fall fast._

_Now Jamie paces by the door, stewing while I slam the first aid kit and a bottle of whiskey from the backpack on the front desk. The building is silent save for what I’m doing. I feel Jamie watch when the whiskey over my raw cuts makes me hiss. Though it burns like I’ve read about poison and hot coals, I like this. I know that makes me sound like a masochist…but maybe I am. The sting reminds me I’m alive, I haven’t lost yet. A thud against the metal door followed by the trash bin clanking across the floor tells me Jamie doesn’t like reminders she’s alive._

_“Smash a bottle in your hand to even the score,” I tell her, holding my hand above my head so I can stick on butterfly bandages without bleeding all over them. Jamie doesn’t retort for once. Good. I hope she fucking got the message._

_There’s one robot undamaged. In a protective recharging pod, it’s unresponsive to us. Jamie is interested in it, mumbling something about never seeing a robot with legs before, while I examine the pod for override buttons or a manual latch. A computer mounted to the wall next is easier to activate._

_And then it’s quiet again. Still, calm. A familiar warming in my chest like every other time I sit down in front of tech. It’s like an interactive book, almost. My fingers move from key to key without my eyes to guide them. The password is set high like the creators expected the system breached, but that’s not hard. It’s a challenge of course, but it’s wonderful, it doesn’t feel hard. Cracking passwords is like a puzzle, matching shapes to eliminate the gaps, toss out the pieces thrown in by mistake. My mind unrolls this all for me before I know I’ve found a new match. I pretty much sit back and watch a beautiful picture unveils before my eyes._

_“What’s wrong?” Jamie’s voice pitches; she’s concerned._

_“Nothing’s wrong. Shut up.” I don’t tear my eyes away from the screen. Not that I can’t, but I don’t want to._

_“Is it a bomb? What? Something’s wrong, I know it! Is it going to explode? I fucking need to know!” she darts in and out of my vision from the corner of my eye._

_“Stop pacing, you’ll start a fire with your boots. Then we_ **_will_ ** _be in trouble.”_

_“Stop fucking around Alistair! Tell me what’s wrong! Why aren’t you moving?!”_

_“I am too moving. My eyes are moving,” I answer. Found one;_ **_click_** _; the first decoy password removed. The monitor responds with an amiable beep. It’s so fucking nice to drown myself in something Jamie can’t reach. And maybe I sound half-machine for feeling this, but it’s like language, like all I’m doing is filling in the blanks to a rough translation of my natural tongue. Or like taking a bath, sinking into something that’s not part of me, but I’m part of it while I’m submerged. Something I never had to work at._

 _“Don’t be a dick, Alistair! I’m not - I’m_ **_not_ ** _being_ **_rude!_ ** _I’m_ **_serious!_ ** _You’ve stopped moving!_ **_Tell_ ** _me what’s_ **_wrong!_ ** _I don’t want to die here!”_

_“Nothing’s wrong, Jamie, calm your britches.”_

_“I’m not being a bitch!”_

_A hypothetical eye roll since I won't tear my eyes from the screen. “_ ** _Britches_** _. I said britches, not bitch.”_ **_Click;_ ** _another dud removed, another beep. “There’s nothing wrong. I’m hacking the computer.”_

_“But you’ve stopped moving! Did you step on a mine??”_

_“I told you, my eyes are moving. And the gears in my skull. You can’t hear those? They’re a bit rusty, no one’s let me use a computer in a while. Don’t tell me **you** aren’t manic about something? Everyone has some sort of fixation.” _

_“I don’t- no! I - what? This is_ **_normal_ ** _for you? No,_ **_no_** _, you move all the time, all that fucking_ **_tapping_ ** _and_ **_scraping_ ** _-!”_

 _Wild guess here though I know there are more duds to sweep away._ **_Click._ ** _Exact Match! The computer celebrates with me, rows of asterisks and exclamation marks; that sounds fucking lame, but dammit a clear hack is a good feeling._

_“So…” I’m ignoring Jamie right now but she continues anyway. “When you’re on a computer, you’re still? It makes you stop moving?” as if this discovery is hard to believe._

_“Computers, tech, fixing things, taking things apart. Anything with wires and puzzles. Motherboards.” Despite her panic, it now occurs to me Jamie’s never seen me calm. I mean, music calms me but I also dance to it. She’s never seen me with something that stills my body by stirring up my mind. Jamie’s having a moment, I won't call it an epiphany, but I can tell she’s realizing I tick and fidget for a reason, not just to be annoying. “You ever read a book where the hero comes home after years away and is overcome with emotion and vows never to leave again? That’s what tech is like for me. I know my way around it, I understand it. I’ve always been able to. My father and brother were like this too. I guess it’s in my blood.” Fuck. I didn’t mean to put so much emphasis on that._

_“Who are your father and brother?”_

_I hesitate, using the computer as an excuse to figure out what I want to say. “It doesn’t matter. They’re both dead,” I tell her._

_Every recharge pod here has a hidden Sex Bot program waiting for download and install though their main programs are for security. “Fuck me!” then I laugh at my unplanned pun. Sex Bots disguised as security. I can’t imagine one Sex Bot at a time, let alone four. It’s a shame there’s only one left, and it’s a shame I can get so many caps if I give it away._

_…Maybe I’ll visit the Nug Wrangler in the future to…check up on this thing._

_The only remaining pod is already online. I upload the Sex Bot program with a tap of the a button; Jamie jumps as the pod hums and blinks. As soon as I logout from the computer, the pod opens with a whoosh. The robot steps out of its charging station and stands in front of us, and a bulb atop its head lights up. It twists at the waist and the arms wave up and down; routine diagnostic tests._

_“That’s a sex bot?” Jamie whispers._

_“I think we’re about to find out,” I say. “It has nice hips, don’t you think?”_

_“Fucking - you aren’t serious!” she hisses._

_“Of course I’m not,” I lie. “Did you lose your sense of humor when you shoved me against the wall?” She stiffens beside me; I can’t fucking explain how good this feels. It will take time for my hand to heal and I intend to remind her about it until it scars._

_“Greetings sir or madam,” the robot speaks. I can’t tell if detects both of us but only has one greeting or assumes only one person is present. “Fully Integrated Security Technotronic Officer, reporting for duty,” it uses a speech synthesizer; software for chain linking pieces of recorded speech. The Securitrons on The Strip have the same software._

_“Well,_ **_that’s_ ** _a mouthful,” I say. I smile at myself - the Sex Bot is a mouthful. Second great pun for the day._

_“Security?” one of Jamie’s brows reaches for her hairline._

_“It’s_ **_safe_ ** _sex.” I stare till she meets my eyes. “Get it?” Jamie frowns and slides away from me. “Right! Let’s call you Fisto!” I tell the robot._

_“Rewriting program identification...” the robot obeys. “Name change confirmed. Fisto, reporting for duty.”_

_“Perfect. Fisto, what are you capable of…just…you know, to make sure I didn’t screw up your programming…” If Jamie hasn’t caught on by now I want one of these, then I’m a cyborg gecko and Morrigan’s my mother._

_Fisto’s list is…creative. I’ve read many books in my life, naughty books I shouldn’t have read even before I traveled with Duncan. I’ve read about positions and toys and where to touch people. But Fisto is naming things I’ve never heard of…_

_I can rake in caps for this thing. I can barter five hundred caps, not to mention compensation for programming it myself. I could leave here with one thousand caps or more, instead of only six hundred._

_We._ **_We_ ** _could leave here with a thousand caps._

 _But a steep bargain will have to be guaranteed, or else the next visitor to The Freeside will be collecting a bounty for_ **_my_ ** _head._

_“Right! Someone needs to test this thing.” I decide._

_“What?!” Jamie’s hair whips around her face. She’s perfect for the job; with her never-ending supply of Fuck Yous and constant hitting._

_“I am programmed for your pleasure,” Fisto assures._

_“What? Alistair!” Jamie’s voice escalates as I back away as fast as I can._

_“It’s okay! You’re right, I need to step back and let you help the way you know how! Don’t worry, I’ll watch the door!” I spin and dart from the room. I hear the robot’s voice once more before I shut myself out of the building:_

_“Please assume the position…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in the soundtrack so far, you can find it on Spotify at [ Nuclear Blight](https://open.spotify.com/user/129544432/playlist/6d3i5sUhLytDAZ2zRnaryc)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, a huge thank you to [Eravalefantasy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eravalefantasy/works) for your awesome editing skills <3


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